Guarded
by callalili
Summary: Atton Rand is a man on the run from just about everything: the Sith, the Jedi, the Republic, the Exchange. Ironic, then, that he should find himself in the middle of them all. KotOR II, through the eyes of our favorite cynical, sarcastic, embittered hero.
1. Prologue

New KotOR story! Featuring our favorite snarky, cynical Atton Rand!

Angst! Bitterness! Sarcasm!

Which pretty much means, you know, canon!Atton. Who is really bitter.

* * *

Atton remembers Dantooine with the same sharp bitterness that he remembers that last Jedi he'd killed, in no small part because Dantooine was the first planet he went to after he left the Sith.

It hadn't exactly been of his own choosing; his ship had crash-landed on the planet's surface, miles and miles away from any sort of settlement, and it had taken a week for him to make enough repairs to allow him to limp into port on Nar Shadda. During that time he hadn't seen another sentient.

He saw an awful lot of Dantooine, though.

He remembers the plains, verdant and lovely, with birds singing in the bushes and kath hounds playing in the sun; he remembers the way the azure sky stretched out to touch the horizon on every side. But most of all Atton remembers the way the wild wind blew through the tall prairie grass, and how he would lose himself in that sound—it had been so peaceful, somehow, and it was only when he was listening to the breeze and staring out over the plains that he had felt any sense of tranquility.

It had taken him three days to realize that what he was really feeling was the Force.

After that, Atton had stopped going out to watch the plains. He tried not to leave his ship at all. The sound of the wind made him so tranquil that he was afraid he would lose himself in it entirely; lose himself in it, like that damned Jedi woman had, and sacrifice his life to some stupid cause that didn't care about him anyway, and end up dying at the hands of someone like _him_.

He had left Dantooine as fast as he could.

But try as he might, he could never quite manage to forget the sound the wind made as it blew across the plains, and he never managed to forget that Jedi, either.


	2. Jailbreak

Peragus was a cold, desolate place, and it was even colder in his tiny jail cell.

Atton was hungry, too. And bored. Hungry he could deal with; he couldn't even remember all the times he had been hungry in his life, hunting out Jedi or hiding from the Sith or running smuggling gigs—but none of those had every been boring.

They had even taken away his pazaak deck. As though _that_ had posed any danger.

_Yeah_, Atton thought to himself sardonically. _I could've given them paper cuts. Real dangerous_.

He hadn't even meant to come here. Bloody miners and their mandatory cargo checks; it wasn't as though he had even been _trying_ to sell his blasters or anything. All he'd wanted was some fuel. Frack. This was supposed to be a fuel station, wasn't it?

Yes. Yes, it was.

How long had he been in here? A few days, probably. He hadn't seen any miners recently—though he had heard (and felt) a couple of big explosions. Maybe they were all dead. Served them right, for locking him up and forgetting about him like this; though if they were, he would be stuck in here forever, which was not something Atton was looking forwards to—

The lock on the prison door clicked open.

Well, well. Maybe someone was coming to let him out.

The door slid back with a faint whirring sound. Atton blinked. There was a naked woman standing in the doorway. Was he dreaming?

No, no, he wasn't dreaming; she wasn't naked, just in her underwear. Damn.

"Nice outfit," Atton said sarcastically. "What, you miners change regulation uniform while I've been in here?"

She only smiled. "Hello," she said. "Who are you?"

"Atton. Atton Rand." Still, a pretty girl in her underwear was light-years better than that grumpy old man who had been bringing him food before; beggars couldn't be choosers, after all. The girl was small and slight and rather fragile-looking, but she had some wicked curves on her, and besides Atton couldn't remember the last time a half-naked girl had smiled at him without his having to pay for it. "Are you going to let me out of here, or what?"

"No," she said, sounding perfectly cheerful. "Not if you keep ogling me like that, at any rate."

Atton quickly tore his gaze away and focused on her face. Her eyes were a deep green, gazing at him with amusement; her lips were still quirked in a smile. She had short, messy black hair—clearly the result of a poor dye job, Atton thought uncharitably—that was straining to escape from its ponytail.

And she was _still_ half-naked. How was he supposed to not look?

"Sorry," Atton muttered, not very sorry at all. "Carry on."

She turned away to punch in the release codes into the security panel, and Atton quickly took the opportunity to check out her legs. Nice. Very nice; long and slender and gracefully muscled—

"I'm Carra," she said, interrupting the pleasant flow of his thoughts. "What did you do to get thrown into a jail cell on Peragus? Poison someone maybe?"

"What?" Was this random questions day and he hadn't been informed? "What are you talking about? How would I poison someone from here?"

"Just wondering," she said evasively, and the force fields came down around him with a hiss. "Come on, we shouldn't stick around here."

"No kidding," Atton muttered. She cast him a look.

But "I hope you're good with a blaster," was all she said.

--

It was only after Carra was standing over a pile a broken droids, vibroblade in hand, that Atton realized something. "You're a Jedi!" he accused.

She looked at him, surprised. "No," she said. "Not anymore."

Well, that was rather cryptic and unhelpful, even coming from a Jedi—or an ex-Jedi, like she claimed to be—because after all, being a Jedi wasn't something you just up and _quit_, last Atton had heard. He gave her a hard look, but Carra was already moving away. Yes, _there_—the way she moved, the way she tilted her head as she considered the computer panels—that fairly _screamed_ Jedi at him, no matter what she might claim. Atton had studied Jedi long enough to know, after all. He frowned after her.

"Do you know how to work this thing?" she asked, gesturing at the communications console on the control deck. "We should try to get in touch with someone else on this facility; they might be able to help us."

"Never fear," Atton drawled. "I'm a man of many talents—computer slicing only one among them. Allow me to demonstrate."

"Where did you learn to slice computers?" Carra asked curiously, watching his fingers fly over the console.

"A misspent youth on Nar Shadda." It was partly true, anyway; he had picked up bits and pieces of knowledge there, but most of his skill had come from infiltrating Jedi camps. But she didn't have to know that. "We've got communications. You want to try contacting someone?"

"Yes," she said, coming forward to take over the console. Atton grinned. From here he had a lovely view of her chest, and her shoulder was brushing against his arm, and she smelled pleasantly of lavender and kolto—

"So," he said, leaning against the edge of the computer console, "how long have you been a Jedi? Must be tough, you know…no family…no husband…"

"No harder than enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest," she said absently. "Oh! We've got contact. Hello? Can you hear me?"

A series of beeping sounds came from the speakers. Atton frowned, momentarily diverted. A droid? What was an utility droid doing in the hangar bay? "What—" he began.

But Carra wasn't listening. "T3? Are you all right? Can you help?"

Atton felt a bit put out. She hadn't asked him if _he_ had been all right. He could have been _injured_ or something.

More beeping. Then, "Please, T3, you're probably our only hope."

_Please. _She had said _please_ to a droid. Atton rolled his eyes. You didn't _ask_ droids to do things, you _told_ them to. They were _supposed_ to take orders. Why were the prettiest ones always the craziest? Maybe that's why she wasn't a Jedi anymore.

Whatever it was, Carra seemed to have sorted out her problems with the droid, because she was turning toward him and saying, "Well, now that that's settled, I suppose all we can do is wait, unless you know of another way out of here—"

"_I_ was stuck inside a force field," Atton said, annoyed. "None of the miners were considerate enough to let me out to look for secret escape routes."

"Then we'll have to wait for T3." Carra sounded surprisingly serene at the prospect. "I hope it doesn't take too long."

Great. His fate depended on an utility droid. Atton scowled. He was _still_ hungry. And bored, now, too, since apparently all they could do was wait. "Great," he said sarcastically. "I don't suppose you have a pazaak deck hidden on you somewhere?"

Carra laughed. "No," she said, amused. "Sorry. But you can tell me all about your misspent youth, if you like; I promise I'll laugh at all the right moments."

At least, Atton thought, as he settled down for a long wait, she was still in her underwear.

--

They had found a pazaak deck on the corpse of one of the miners lying about, and had played four or five hands before the console started beeping again. Carra leaped to her feet, scattering cards everywhere, and exclaimed, "T3?"

Atton picked up the cards and got to his feet, to the sound of excited electronic squawks. "That's great!" Carra was saying excitedly. "Can you see if you can get the hangar door open, too? A ship would be really useful—"

There was a sudden, loud _boom_ that made even Atton wince. The annoying little droid had cut off. Carra was frantically pushing buttons, to no avail. "Probably decided it wasn't worth it and abandoned us," Atton said caustically. "Did we get anything useful out of it?"

"T3 wouldn't have done that." Carra looked anxious. "I think something attacked him—" oh, so now it was a _him_, was it? "—but he's got the emergency hatch open. We should check up on him and see if he's all right."

"_Check up_ on it?" Atton demanded, incredulous. "Are you joking or what? We've got to get out of here!"

Carra swung around to face him, and there was a trace of anger on her face. "First of all," she snapped, "that _droid_ is a friend of mine. Second of all, _we_ can't get out of here without T3's codes for the Ebon Hawk's navicomputer, which happens to be the _only_ working ship on this facility. But go ahead, leave if you want. If you can get away, that is."

Atton let out a frustrated sigh. Damned Jedi and their ridiculous sensibilities. "We can't go around rescuing every tin-scrap that gets into trouble," he said. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but this place is completely _empty_. Something's been killing the miners, and I don't want to stick around long enough for it to get to us."

"Fine," she said. "You can stay here while I go investigate."

Crazy or not, this Jedi was probably his best hope of getting off this rock. Atton sighed again. "All right, all right," he said, gesturing in defeat. "Here, take this commlink. I'll monitor things from up here. Be careful, all right?"

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Atton," she said, taking the communicator from him.

And then she was off, and Atton found himself staring after her as she picked her way through the broken droids. Damn, but he was going to miss that view.

--

The pinging of the communications console drew him away from his pazaak cards, and when Atton went to check up on it he was arrested by the sight of a huge battleship slowly coming in to dock on Peragus.

And he thought this day couldn't get any stranger. Frowning, he accessed ship's records. The _Harbinger_. Huh. Odd. What was a war-ship doing on this rock? He reached for the commlink. Carra had better know about this.

He got another unpleasant surprise when he finally managed to track down her signal. "Please don't tell me you're outside the station," he said wearily into the commlink.

"Look out the window." Her voice came through full of static, and when Atton looked up, there was a suited figure waving at him.

"Are you crazy?" Yes, she clearly was. "Something's turned the vent pipes on in the _last five minutes_ and you're going to get fried—they're blowing superheated fuel right in your path. And the _Harbinger_'s coming in to dock. I hope their friends of yours, because otherwise we're in even more trouble than we are already."

She didn't answer. Checking his commlink, Atton saw that she had cut off the signal; at least she had started moving again. The ship was closing in. He gripped the edge of the console tightly and groaned. If she got herself killed he was going to be stuck here. Alone. Playing endless rounds of pazaak with himself until he died of boredom.

Unless the Republic soldiers on the _Harbinger_ gunned him down first.

Which wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, either.

What was the ship doing? Wasn't it supposed to be announcing itself or something? Damn, damn, damn. There was something wrong with the _Harbinger_; the dead silence was beginning to get to him. What, did they think they were sneaking up on something? Atton snorted. The thing was a _battle cruiser_, for frack's sake.

Atton scowled and checked his commlink again. Carra was on the other side of the Peragus asteroid now, making fairly swift progress through the dormitories; the Republic ship was docked but had made no move to unload. Was there even anyone _on_ the blasted thing? Radio silence, no lights, no life signs—

He's only come to Peragus for some _fuel_, dammit. Just his luck to get embroiled with a Jedi and a crazy droid and a ghost ship.

Where the hell was Carra? She wasn't moving anymore. She was standing _in one place_. He was picking up traces of poisonous gas in the atmosphere. She was standing in one place in a room with _poisonous gas_. What the frack was she doing? Weren't Jedi supposed to be smart?

He tried the commlink. She wasn't picking up. Damn. Atton cast an uneasy glance at the _Harbinger_, still cold and silent as ever. He tried the commlink again.

Still nothing. If she came out of this alive he was going to kill her.

Finally, _finally_, she started to move again, and his commlink crackled to life. "Hello," Carra said cheerfully. "You tried to contact me?"

"I'm picking up poisonous gas in the atmosphere. You do realize that poisonous gas will kill you, right? What were you doing there for so long?"

"Oh, I was wearing a breath mask." Well, at least she wasn't _completely _crazy. "I had to read some datapads."

_Datapads_? "Look," Atton said sarcastically. "I don't care how exciting this month's edition of _Jedi Fashion_ is, we really don't have the time for this. You need to get out of there. Then we need to get off this rock. I'm getting a bad feeling from the _Harbinger_."

"All right." Then, "I've found some clothes."

Damn. "Uh, great," Atton said, trying to sound a great deal more enthusiastic than he felt. "Good to hear it. No sense in you running around half-naked."

"None at all," she said cheerfully, and his hopes that she had only managed to find, say, a skimpy dancer's outfit, plummeted. "I'll see you soon. I'm coming back to the administrative level now."

"Great," he muttered again, flicking off the comm.


	3. Escaping the Sith

_Another_ Jedi.

Atton scowled at the old woman, who scowled right back. "Who's this?" he demanded. "Another Jedi? What, did you guys suddenly start breeding when I wasn't looking?"

"Don't speak of things you don't understand," the old woman snapped.

Carra's lips twitched. Atton was disgruntled to see that she had found a miner's uniform, a size or two too large for her; it obscured every lovely inch of her except for her face and that awful dye job. "Kreia, this is Atton. Atton, Kreia."

"Nice to meet you," Atton said sarcastically.

The old woman only sniffed at him. Atton was indignant. "We have to go," Carra said.

That's what he had been trying to tell her for the past few _hours_, but no—she had to catch up on her _reading_ first.

And, apparently, pick up an insane protocol droid along the way. "What the hell is _that_?" Atton demanded, gesturing at the somewhat _menacing_ metal shape that was clanking its way toward them. "Don't tell me you want to take _another_ tin can with us."

Carra was frowning. "Oh, no," she said. "I think we're in for a fight."

"No kidding," Atton said, as the droid hefted the heavy blaster in its hands and pointed it at them.

Its voice was a rather unpleasant nasal snarl. "Threat: Master, perhaps I did not enunciate clearly the last time we spoke. I suggested that you should shut down, stay put, and wait for rescue."

"No," Carra said. "I heard you perfectly. I just don't listen to assassin droids."

An assassin droid. "Great," Atton said out loud. "Just great. Any other unpleasant surprises you want to tell me about? Got another Jedi hidden under your clothes? A Sith Lord lurking around the corner?"

He didn't like the uneasy look that passed between the two Jedi. The way things were going, there probably _was_ a Sith Lord lurking around the corner.

And now the droid was off again, going on about assassination protocols and diplomatic relations, and Carra was _arguing _with the damned thing, instead of reducing it to scrap metal which was clearly the better idea, as it was now bragging about how it had poisoned half the facility and killed the other half with detonations. "We don't have time for this," Atton said, and shot the droid right in the head.

He must have fried some sort of circuitry, because there was a sizzling sound, the droid gave an indignant squeal, and its right eye winked out; the rest of it, however, snapped to attention and started shooting.

"Now you've antagonized it," Carra huffed, as she pulled out her vibroblade.

_Antagonized_ it? Atton would have given her an incredulous stare if he hadn't been busy dodging a flurry of rapid—if wildly inaccurate—blaster shots. What was wrong with this woman? It was an _assassin_ droid. A _gizka_ could have antagonized it.

It wasn't like the damned droid hadn't been ready to kill them, anyway.

--

They made their way through the silent Peragus facility toward the equally silent battle cruiser. Carra wouldn't answer when he asked her what was on it, and Kreia definitely wasn't going to tell him anything—but he gathered from Carra's pale face that it wasn't exactly Republic soldiers on that ship waiting to cheer them on.

In fact, there wasn't _anyone_ on the Republic ship when they got there. Carra was nervous and Kreia was silent; Atton kept his blaster ready and tried not to jump at small noises. "What in space is going on?" he finally hissed. "Much as I'd like a Republic warship of my own, I didn't think they'd be so generous as to actually deliver—"

"Shh," Carra whispered, at the same time that Kreia said, "Silence, fool," and a Sith assassin whacked him across the back with a vibroblade.

--

His jacket took the brunt of the hit, but his back would have bruises later; stupid of him, Atton thought, to have sliced instead of stabbed; now the Sith assassin was dead (a blaster bolt to the forehead will do that to a person) and Atton was firing, with cold, deadly accuracy, at what seemed to be empty air but what, seconds later, turned out to be a black-clad figure clutching its arm.

And all too quickly it was over; there were four bodies on the floor and Kreia was searching them, methodically, and Carra was gazing at her vibroblade with a small puzzled frown on her face. _Jedi_, Atton remembered, and wondered where her lightsaber was.

"You all right?" he asked warily.

She looked at him. "Yes," she said, though she didn't _sound_ all right, she sounded lost and a little vulnerable; but hey, Atton knew better than to poke his nose where it wasn't wanted.

"I hope there aren't any more of those," he said instead, idly nudging a black-clad body with the toe of his boot.

"Kreia? What _were_ they?"

He could have told her just as well as that old scow, but kept his mouth shut, because it would have been suspicious; they were Sith assassins, trained to strike those sensitive in the Force by hiding themselves with it; he had worked with small strike teams before, back when Revan had been in charge.

Back when Revan had been in charge, there wouldn't have been this sort of sloppiness in the ranks. Atton scowled down at the dead Sith. Not that he wasn't happy to be alive, of course, sore back or not.

"Look, unless you want to stand around and paint a big target on your back, we should get going," he said, interrupting Kreia's lecture and earning himself a black look from the woman; Atton didn't much care. "We can share life stories later when we aren't being hounded by Sith assassins."

They went.

And there _was_ a Sith Lord on board, after all; it just really wasn't his day.

--

"I will deal with this one," Kreia hissed, her vibroblade flashing to her hand.

"Kreia—"

"Go!" the old woman snapped, and Atton was perfectly happy to see her leave but Carra looked torn and didn't move, even after the door had whizzed shut in her face.

_Jedi_.

"Come _on_," Atton said, jerking roughly on her arm. They didn't have time for this. How long would that old woman last against Sion? "Didn't you have a plan or something? Or are you just going to stand there until he comes after us?"

"I—" She looked around, a bit wildly. "Yes. That way; we'll be going through the fuel lines—"

Crazy, but at this point he wasn't even surprised anymore. "Let's go," he said curtly. Sion wasn't looking too good—where had that skin come from? And what was with that eye?—but Atton had known Sion long enough to know not to underestimate him; they had better get moving, and fast.

Halfway through the engine room Atton realized he was alone, and turned around, a little irritated, to find Carra bent over in pain a few paces behind him. "What's wrong?" he demanded, rushing back to her and keeping out a watchful eye for more assassins or crazy droids. Nothing had attacked them; she looked fine—

"Kreia," she gasped out, clutching her left arm. "I think she's hurt. Badly."

Her face was white with pain. Atton grimaced. Damned Jedi and their Force tricks; they always got in the way at the most inconvenient times. "You're not giving up now," he told her sharply; she was the only one who had any idea where they were going. "Come on, or do I have to carry you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he slung his arm roughly around her waist and pulled; she stumbled but they were moving again. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut but her breathing seemed to be evening out, Atton noted critically, though if any assassins came now they were both probably going to die.

And of course, the door at the end of the hallway was locked. Atton kicked it viciously and cursed. "Console," Carra said. Her face was still white but she pushed away from him. "I've got the passwords. Hold on."

He held on. Grimly. To both of his blasters.

The door slid open. "Come on," Carra said—as though _he_ had been the one holding them up—and they were in the fuel lines, and—

Atton groaned. "Not the tin-head," he complained.

"T3!" Carra bent over the droid. It beeped at her, disconsolately, and she said: "No, I'm just glad to see you're all right. Let's go."

She hadn't been glad to see _him_ all right. He glared at the droid. It was ignoring him.

"How's your hand?" he asked.

"It's—better," she said, hurrying down the narrow passageway; the air stank of fuel. "I think she's alive—"

"Great," Atton muttered. Behind them, the door to the _Harbinger_ had shut. He holstered his blasters and followed the crazy Jedi and the clanking tin-can.

He had never been very fond of his ship, the Rancor—it was old and cranky and creaked alarmingly at every hyperspace jump—but it was still a nasty surprise to walk into the Peragus hangar and see parts of _his_ ship decorating the Ebon Hawk; whoever fixed the Hawk had had no compunctions about cannibalizing the Rancor for components. The husk of the Rancor was nowhere to be seen. Probably on a trash pile somewhere, Atton thought, and grimaced; the Ebon Hawk, despite its repairs, still looked pretty shoddy. "Are you sure this thing will fly?" he asked, as he and Carra waited for T3 to open the hatch.

"Pretty sure," Carra said, which didn't reassure him very much. She cast him a glance. "Are you a pilot, by any chance?"

"Wait," Atton said. "Are you saying that you're _not_?"

Now Carra looked slightly worried. "Not really," she said, biting her lip. "I think T3 knows the basics—"

"Well, it's good for you that I am," Atton said, annoyed. How had she been planning on getting off Peragus on a stolen ship without first securing a pilot?

Some of what he was thinking must have shown up on his face, because Carra flashed him an unexpected smile, and said: "Yes, you're a man of many talents."

And then _Kreia_ had to show up and ruin their moment.


	4. Jailbreak II

A/N: Wow, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate all your comments. Reviews are awesome!

This chapter turned out to be sort of short and choppy, so apologies for that in advance.

* * *

Atton was the finest pilot that he knew, and that was saying a lot, but clearly there were _some_ people aboard who didn't appreciate it.

"Can't you be more careful?" Kreia asked testily as the Ebon Hawk very nearly missed being plastered across the surface of a small asteroid.

"I'm _trying_!" Atton snapped. "How would _you_ like to fly this thing with a Republic battleship firing on us in the middle of a fracking _asteroid_ belt?" He jerked the ship around, violently, and winced at the sound of scraping along the ship's hull; still, better than being fried by the laser fire—

There was a jarring thump as _something_ got hit.

"Grab onto something!" he shouted, and flipped the Hawk over and dove past an asteroid.

Of course, the gravity generators would choose that moment to flicker off. Atton was strapped in, but there was a nasty _crunch_ as Carra slammed into the navicomputer; a moment later, the generators came online again, and she fell to the floor with a thump.

"Get us out of here," she said, sounding really rather calm for someone who was surrounded by several million tons of _explosive fuel_. "Can we jump to hyperspace?"

"What do you think I've been trying to do?" Atton demanded. He flung the ship sideways and two laser blasts flew past them. "But if we try it now we'll hit an asteroid and die, and if we wait for them to clear out the field we'll be caught in the explosion and die—"

Her hand closed on his upper arm. "Do it," she said.

"What—"

"_Now_."

Atton did it.

There was an explosion, directly in front of them, and for a moment the Hawk was wreathed in flames and burning fuel and the control panel beeped alarmingly—

And then it was all gone, and they were in the cool empty blueness of hyperspace.

"Was that some Jedi trick?" Atton demanded. "What did you do? No way that shot was a coincidence—"

"There are no coincidences," Kreia interrupted. Atton gave her a glare that went mostly unnoticed; she was looking at Carra, and holding on to the stump of her arm as though it pained her. "Through the Force, everything is connected."

Jedi. He was surrounded by them. Atton scowled and turned back to the controls. Carra and Kreia went off together to talk about some Jedi matters. Well, good. He didn't want them around anyway. It wasn't like he was expecting to be _thanked_ or anything.

--

"Are we still on course for Telos?"

The voice came out of nowhere, and Atton jumped. Carra. Damn, she was good. He hadn't even heard her come in. "What are you, a ghost?" he demanded. His blaster was already half-out of its holster; he tried to slide it back discreetly. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry," Carra said. She touched his shoulder. "Telos?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're on course."

She nodded. Atton looked at her curiously. "So, what happened to it?" he finally asked.

"To what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful. So…where's yours?"

Carra turned away to examine the galaxy maps. There was that odd look again, like she was lost somewhere within herself, and she said: "Exiles aren't allowed to carry their lightsabers."

"Yeah?" Atton was curious now. "Was it red, by any chance?"

"I don't remember," Carra snapped. Her face had clouded over. "Anyway, it was a long time ago, and it doesn't matter."

"All right, all right," Atton said. Probably best just to drop it for now; you never knew what a wound-up Jedi could do to you, lightsaber or no. But Carra wasn't listening. She had already stalked out on him.

--

Another day, another jail cell.

"I told you we should have gone to Nar Shadda," Atton said bitterly. "But does anyone listen to the pilot?"

"Silence, fool," Kreia said from two force fields over. Carra, who was in the middle, and had been listening to their bickering with remarkable patience, only sighed.

"Telos depended on Peragus for fuel. We couldn't have not told them what happened," she explained, for what was perhaps the fourth time. Atton scowled. No wonder she never joined Revan and Malak against the Republic—she was too much of a goody-two-shoes, that's what she was, and she was going to get them all executed.

"You'd think they'd find out by themselves, with an explosion of that magnitude," Atton complained.

"That's not the point," Carra said.

In her corner, Kreia held up her unmutilated hand. "Hush," she said. "Someone approaches."

Well, that was helpful and specific. To be a Jedi you probably had to take a couple courses in obscurity or something: Introduction to Cryptic Phrases; Advanced Techniques in Incomprehensibility—

The door opened, and a Telos guard walked in.

Only he wasn't a Telos guard, because Atton recognized him. He was a minor Exchange thug Atton had met briefly in the back alleys of Nar Shadda; back then the man had been nothing but hired muscle. Well, well, well. He had moved up in the world.

Or down. Whichever.

"Who are you?" Carra wanted to know.

He leered at her. Atton wanted to punch him. "Batu Rem," he said. "Telos Security." Then he smirked. "Or not. Maybe I'm just here to kill you. Electrocuting you will be easy enough, don't you think?"

Of course he was here to kill them. This Jedi attracted attention like flies to bantha droppings.

"What, still working for the Exchange?" Atton asked sarcastically before Carra could answer. "I thought they would've gotten rid of you by now."

Incensed, the man turned to face him. "I'm more than skilled enough to work for the Exchange!"

"Yeah? Is that why you're too scared to face us in a fight?" Now it was Atton's turn to smirk; Rem (or whatever he was calling himself these days) had pulled out his blaster, but of course the force field would deflect that. "Not good enough to take us out on your own?"

"I could take you on any day of the week!" Rem said hotly, banging his fist on the nearby wall for emphasis. As though that would make him less of an idiot. "You're no match for me! I'm the best they've got—"

Their force fields came whizzing down as Rem's fist hit the security console on the wall. Atton rolled his eyes. This guy was about as skilled as a _rock_.

He reached for his blaster, but Kreia was faster. A moment later her vibroblade was in the false guard's throat and he was lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. Atton glared at the old woman. "You don't think we should've kept him alive for questioning or something?" he demanded.

"He was a fool," Kreia said coldly, pulling her blade free and wiping it on his robes. "I doubt he would have had anything useful to say."

"We're going to have some explaining to do," Carra said. She stepped carefully around the body on the floor. "That wasn't really a guard, was it?"

"No kidding he wasn't—"

"Drop your weapons," a voice ordered from the door. "Lift your hands into the air and turn around slowly. No sudden moves." Lietenant Grenn did not look happy.

"One of you just tried to _kill_ us," Atton complained. All he got for his efforts was a blaster barrel in his face.

"Drop your weapons," Grenn said again, scowling deeply. "And _without_ the comments this time."

--

It took three days for the investigations to finish, and in that time Atton thought he would expire from boredom. He could only play so many hands of pazaak with himself before he got tired of it, and Carra didn't seem inclined to let him see her naked again, and Kreia of course irritated him to no end. So Atton stayed in his room and flicked cards at the ceiling and thought a lot about the Jedi.

Such as, for example, why there were any left.

He had been good. Very good. And there were plenty of people like him still out there, and they had all been dedicated and ruthless. So that begged the question: why was Carra still alive? Or, for that matter, Kreia?

Where had they hid? And how?

And more importantly—why?

Jedi were not the sort to run from threats. Atton snorted to himself and started to pick up the stray cards on the floor. No, they weren't the sort to run, not when standing and making a grand pointless gesture was possible—it had certainly made Atton's job easier. The Jedi he had killed had all been heroic, and now they were all very, very dead.

And the Jedi he had captured had all been broken, one way or another, and for some unaccountable reason Atton felt his throat closing up as he stared at the cards in his hands. Disgusted with himself, he tossed the deck aside.

_She_ was dead, too, and there was no reason he should be thinking of her.


	5. Women Scorned

Ithorians. Green, long-necked creatures, with webbed hands and feet and a pacifism that made Atton retch; their compound was filled with the scent of flowers and there was greenery and sparkling fountains everywhere. Carra had described it to him cheerfully and at length.

Atton, of course, had been sent off to talk to Czerka, despite the tremendous amount of complaining he had done. Carra had this terrible habit of trying to help anyone who asked. It was indescribably annoying when all _Atton_ wanted to do was grab the Ebon Hawk and take off for somewhere where the local security force didn't know his face.

The Czerka, as it had turned out, had not been happy to see him. _Women_, Atton thought with deep bitterness. They were nearly as bad as Jedi. How was he supposed to remember the name of every girl he ever slept with? Bloody unreasonable, the lot of them—

Carra stuck her head into the bathroom. Atton only noticed because there was, suddenly, another head next to his in the mirror; he scowled and said, "Ever heard of knocking?"

"That looks painful," Carra remarked.

They both eyed the red mark on his cheek. "I told you I shouldn't have gone to see Czerka," Atton said.

"What did they say?"

"Well, let's see," Atton drawled. "First she said something like, 'Atton Rand! You said you would call!' And then it was onto the accusations, she slapped me really hard, and I had to run for it before the guards started shooting."

Carra came up next to him and handed him a small packet of ice. "Are you always this bad with women?" she wanted to know.

Atton was indignant. "I am _not_ bad with women!" The ice was cold against his throbbing cheek. Damn, but he didn't know Lorso had such an arm on her. Strong legs, too, if he remembered correctly—or maybe that had been that Twi'lek girl, what was her name again—

Carra was grinning. "It's all right," she said. "It doesn't matter anyway; I never really wanted to work with Czerka. We're going to be helping the Ithorians with the restoration project. There won't be any credits, of course—"

Wait, wait—no credits? Atton was aghast. "We're going to be running their dirty errands for _free_?" he demanded. "Carra, I know you Jedi are crazy, but come on—this is ridiculous. Forget it. Let's just get on the Hawk and leave. Aren't there still Sith after you?"

Carra blinked. "Oh," she said. "I suppose I forgot to tell you. When I went to see Lieutenant Grenn about our release, he told us that our ship was missing."

--

"_You lost my ship?_"

Atton's howl of fury shook the walls. Carra winced. "Well," she said. "Not exactly. Grenn thinks someone stole it."

"You let someone steal our ship—I mean your ship—and you _forget to tell me_?" Atton demanded. "How are we supposed to get out of here now? Why wasn't anyone watching the Hawk?"

"T3 was on it—"

"Great," Atton said. "Just great. That little droid probably stole the ship and now it's joyriding around the universe—laughing at us!" He glowered at Carra, who was looking slightly anxious at his outburst.

"I don't think it was T3," Carra said. Then, "I hope he's all right—"

Going on about the droid again. The droid was probably having the time of its life. Atton scowled and emptied the ice pack into the sink. At least the redness had faded. "Now what are we going to do?" he demanded, as they headed out into the living room.

"Well, the Ithorians said they could help us, if we did a few things for them first." Manipulative tree-huggers. "And if we _really_ can't find the Hawk, Grenn has some bounties we can collect on, and we can get tickets to another system."

Atton had _liked_ the Hawk. He didn't know many ships that handled as well as she did, and certainly none that could have been maneuvered out of an asteroid field in the middle of a space battle. He crammed the plastic wrapping that had held the ice into his pocket and threw himself into a chair. Bounties. He hated bounties. They reminded him too much of working for the Sith. Atton cast Carra a glance. She was looking at him, her green eyes curious; somewhere along the way she had ditched the miner's uniform and now she was wearing a dark brown shirt that made him think of a Jedi's robes.

Jedi, Jedi, Jedi. Every line of her body screamed it, from the way she was standing to the tilt of her head. He had to get away from her and soon—there were Sith after her, and anyway, if she found out about his past she would most likely try to fight him.

And Atton didn't want to have to kill her, too.

"When we get the Hawk back, we're going straight to Nar Shadda," Atton told her.

Carra didn't argue.

--

Atton hadn't particularly wanted to go out looking for the Exchange, either, but he had to admit it was better than staying in the apartment with Kreia.

She was hiding something, he knew it—well, all of them were hiding things, one way or another, but Kreia was hiding something _big_. Something dangerous. And damned if he was going to stick around to find out what it was; the moment he got a chance he was going to get a new name and a new ship and go somewhere far, far away.

In the meantime, though, he had to settle for exploring the cantina. There were lots of off-duty TSF soldiers here—_not much else to do on this rock_, Atton thought with a snort—but also a handful of more unruly-looking types: a shady-looking man shuffling cards in the corner, a couple of scarred mercenaries sitting by themselves, and—

"Well, well, well," someone drawled from his right. "If it isn't Atton Rand."

Zeltron. Pink skin. Dark red hair. Atton racked his memory. She had been the one with the—ah, extremely large blasters. Atton risked a quick glance. Yeah, that was her, all right. "Luxa," he said, smirking a little. "Fancy running into you here."

She smirked right back, leaning back against the bar and raising her drink to him in a mock toast. "You never called when you said you would," she said.

Of course he hadn't; he'd been trying to get away from her furious then-boyfriend. "Sorry," Atton said, shrugging. "Had other things on my mind." Like not getting his face smashed in. "Are they with you?" he asked, nodding toward the Gamorreans surrounding her. "Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Luxa."

"No," she said airily. "Just bully-boys. Haven't you heard? I'm Exchange now." She smiled at him, slow and seductive and just a touch patronizing— "Want to buy me a drink, Rand?"

There was a furious sputter from the man to her left. "Is this guy giving you trouble, Luxa?" the man demanded. Atton raised his eyebrows. He didn't look her type—too skinny, for one thing.

"New boyfriend?" he asked idly.

Luxa looked mildly insulted. "No," she said. Then, to the man, "Does he _look_ like he's giving me trouble, Benok? Mind your own business, and try not to be _too_ jealous that I won't sleep with you."

"Fine," Benok snapped. He slammed down his drink. It splashed everywhere. He gestured to his two companions and the three of them stalked out. Luxa was rolling her eyes.

"Ignore them," she told him. "Benok's all talk and not very much substance. What brings you to Telos, now? And with a Jedi, no less."

New traveled fast, especially among the criminal underworld. Atton shrugged. "Two shots of juma," he told the bartender, slapping down a handful of credits. He leaned his elbows against the bar and turned to grin at Luxa. "Funny story, actually," he said thoughtfully. "Seems like the Exchange is _after_ the Jedi. Want to tell me why?"

"Bounty," she answered crisply. Their drinks came, and she picked up the shot and downed it in one gulp. "Goto wants her captured. Don't bother asking my why, though—I don't know."

"Yeah?" Atton cast her a look. "Captured, huh? That would sure explain the assassin."

Luxa looked interested. "Assassin?"

He told her.

She leaned toward him. That seductive smile was back again, in full force. "I think," Luxa said, "I might have a proposition for you."

--

"She wants us to kill the Exchange boss," Carra said thoughtfully.

"Pretty much, yeah," said Atton.

"Kreia?" Carra turned to the old woman. "What do you think?"

Atton felt a bit miffed. Why hadn't she asked him what _he_ thought? He was the one who knew Luxa, after all.

Kreia shrugged. "Go to him with the information, if you like," she advised. "Then, you will be in a position to bargain. But either way it matters little. This does not concern us overmuch."

Atton was incredulous. "You don't want to find out why the Exchange is after her in the first place?" he demanded. "Don't you think that's, oh, I don't know, a little bit important?"

Kreia sniffed at him. "Short-sighted fool," she said, with contempt, and rose to her feet. "Call me when you have arrived at a decision," she told Carra. "For now, I must rest."

What had _she _been doing all day that was so tiring? Thinking up new names to call him? Atton scowled at her retreating figure.

"Atton?"

"What?" He hadn't meant to snap, and winced at the irritation in his voice. "Sorry," he said. "Something up?"

"I wanted to ask your opinion," Carra said, watching him carefully; her hair had started to lose the dye, in the past few days, and he could see patches of brown amongst the black. "Can we trust her?"

"Kreia?" Atton snorted. "No."

She blinked at him. "I meant Luxa."

Of course she had. "Luxa," Atton said, "is the sort of woman to stab you in the back as soon as she thinks it could be profitable."

"Oh," Carra said.

"But as long as she needs us," Atton added, "she won't betray us—and anyway, I don't think Slusk is willing to listen to us at all, and she is. _And_ she's got access to the Exchange records; they might tell us why Goto wants you."

Carra nodded. "I suppose we should take her up on it, then," she said. "Could you possibly try not to stare at my chest while we're dealing with her? It might make things awkward if, you know, she was an ex-girlfriend of yours."

Atton snapped his eyes up to her face. The corners of her lips were twitching. "Or at least," Carra added, "try not to get caught."

* * *

A/N: This story is totally slipping off the railroad tracks at the moment. I haven't yet decided if this is a bad thing or not.

Please review! They make writing fun. :)


	6. Locked Closets

A/N: Never let it be said that I don't listen to my reviewers.

Lady PenThier: These chapters just come in these short lengths, so I hope posting two chapters this time makes up for it.

Jen DeClan: I am off the tracks and heading into uncharted wilderness. Be warned.

Cucumber: Heh, heh. You'll see.

* * *

Atton was trapped in a supply closet.

He tapped his blaster thoughtfully against the palm of his hand. It was a small closet, and rather dark; some bottle or other of cleaning fluid had been spilled in here recently, and the space reeked of lemon and bleach. Outside two Gamorreans were arguing. Atton considered blowing off the lock.

But no, that would alert them to his presence, which would ruin the effect of this stealth mission.

_Of all the places to be stuck, I had to get stuck twenty feet from the door. Real smart, Rand._

He could just imagine the sneer on Kreia's face.

Frack. This wasn't good. He'd been gone an hour, and Carra was bound to be getting impatient. He tried the door again, for perhaps the seventh time—it didn't budge, of course, just as it hadn't for the past ten minutes—and swore silently to himself.

Why didn't they make these damned things open from the inside? What if a _janitor_ had gotten stuck, huh? Then where would Slusk be? In a building with dirty floors, that's where—

From outside came the sound of shooting. Atton groaned and banged his forehead against the door.

Those damned Jedi never did have any patience.

No one would hear him now. He aimed his blaster and fired. But the lock didn't open.

Instead if melted and reformed into a mass of molten metal. Atton swore out loud this time and threw himself at the door.

It didn't open, of course. That would've been too easy.

Outside, there was the sound of screaming. Probably the receptionist; she'd seemed the jumpy sort. He backed up as far as he could and rammed the door with his shoulder.

Not even a single fracking dent.

Outside, the shooting had stopped. The receptionist was sobbing frantically. Atton decided to take his chances and banged on the door with his fist. "Let me out!" he shouted. "Hey! Someone!"

"Atton?"

It was Carra. Atton didn't know whether to be relieved or horribly embarrassed. "Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing in a closet?" She sounded incredulous. "Atton, the lock's melted on the door. I can't get it open without a laser."

Damn. "You sure?" The receptionist was still crying. The sound was grating on his nerves. "Can't you hack through it with a vibroblade or something?"

"Actually—"

He wasn't sure if he liked the contemplative tone in her voice. There were some loud bashing sounds. There was some screaming.

Then the door fell forward, having been cleanly hacked off its hinges. Carra was dusting herself off, looking pleased; the receptionist was cowering under her desk, having (thankfully) stopped screaming. Atton sighed with relief and stepped forward, flicking off his stealth generator.

"You were stuck in a supply closet for an _hour_?" Carra asked him. Atton winced.

"Ten minutes," he said. "_Just _ten minutes, okay? It's a long story. There was this Rodian, and then Slusk came by, and—can we just forget about it? I've got a map of the compound and everything."

"You're turning red," Carra informed him.

Atton Rand—smuggler, ace pilot, deadly assassin—brought down by an inconvenient door and a misbehaving lock. He was never going to live this one down.

"Let's just go," he said.

At least the _receptionist_ still watched him with wide eyes as he walked past.

--

Their cover was blown, so they had to fight their way through every room in the Exchange boss's compound, which Atton wouldn't have minded so much were it not for the fact that Carra kept getting shot at; he wouldn't even have minded _that_ so much if any of the shots had actually hit.

Which they never did.

She was practicing a Jedi trick—consciously or unconsciously, Atton wasn't sure—to avoid the blaster shots, weaving and dancing as she moved, sure and graceful and deadly. It looked odd to see the vibroblade in her hands, instead of a lightsaber, even though Atton had never actually _seen_ Carra with a lightsaber.

He would've bet his life that she had been excellent with a lightsaber. They usually were. That's why he shot them in the back instead of facing them head-on.

"I thought," Carra said, panting as she ran back to him, "that Luxa said her guards wouldn't be attacking us?"

"_Hers_ aren't." Atton nodded toward the Gamorreans, three of which were sitting in the corner, playing cards as though nothing were happening. "Everyone else belongs to Slusk, though."

"Where _is_ he?"

"In his office, I think." Atton absentmindedly nudged the body of a dead Exchange guard with his foot (Carra had run him through with her sword) and looked around. "This way. I know a shortcut."

Carra had to jog to keep up with his longer strides (she was _short_, why hadn't he noticed that before?). "Are you sure it's a shortcut?" she wanted to know. "What if it gets us both locked in a closet?"

Atton groaned. He didn't even have the heart to make a quip about being locked in a closet together. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I'm sure." Thank the stars Kreia wasn't here. He'd never hear the end of it from _her_.

"Are you positive? Because—"

"_Frack_, Carra, I _know_ what I'm doing, all right?"

He _knew_ that if he looked at her, she would be biting her lip and trying not to laugh at him. Atton scowled, kept his gaze straight ahead, and kept walking. Carra jogged after him. They didn't say another word until they reached Slusk's office.

And then, of course, there was lots of talking, but he ended up getting shot at anyway, so he didn't really pay much attention to what was said until Luxa appeared and threatened to blow his brains out.

--

"I thought she was a friend of yours," Carra said.

"Oh, no," Luxa said, blaster drawn, head cocked, Slusk's crumpled corpse lying between them like a line in the sand, "Rand doesn't have any friends. Only enemies, and people he doesn't like." She cast Atton a sideways glance, flirtatiously, and said, "Isn't that right, Rand?"

"I thought you wanted to be Exchange boss," Atton drawled. His own blaster was drawn and loaded, conveniently hidden behind his back. "You think you and your bully boys can take us on? You can hardly run the Exchange if you're dead."

Luxa smirked at him. "Oh, but I won't be the one dead. How about a proposition, beautiful?" This last part, much to Atton's indignation, was addressed toward Carra. "You come work for me, and I'll let you two go. I pay well—much better than whatever those Ithorians are offering you."

"Sorry," Carra said, sounding regretful. "I don't think you can give me what we need."

Luxa sighed. "That's too bad, then," she said, and fired.

It didn't hit, of course; Carra had already ducked out of the way and was rushing forward, 'blade flashing; two Gamorreans headed toward him, his shots hardly seeming to affect them at all. Atton scowled and backed away. He hated fighting Gamorreans, always had; it never seemed like his blaster was strong enough to go up against their thick skin.

"A little help here!" he shouted, as one of them narrowly missed slicing his ear off. He vaulted backward over Slusk's desk and squeezed off a few more shots. Carra was dueling with Luxa. Damn. They were both quite good; he was going to have to hold off the Gamorreans a bit longer by himself.

He just needed one—lucky—shot—

One of them toppled over, dead from a shot straight to his eye; the other howled in fury and—fortunately for Atton—was stopped by Carra's blade going through his chest. He looked down at the blade, a rather puzzled expression on his face, and crumpled to the ground.

"Took you long enough," Atton said.

"You're welcome." She looked around the room, thoughtfully, as though she hadn't just been in a fight and didn't have blood all over the front of her shirt, and said, "Well, I suppose with most of the Exchange dead they can't really be bothering the Ithorians anymore."

"We never found out why they put a bounty on you," Atton pointed out.

Carra shrugged. "I'm sure we will soon enough."

Yeah, the Exchange was _really_ going to be forthcoming to the guys that had wiped out their operations on Telos. Atton rolled his eyes. "We'd better get out of here before Grenn starts investigating," he said. "He might decide to throw us in jail again."

--

They hurried away from the Exchange base and to the Ithorian compound, Carra leading the way as quickly as she could with the sound of alarms ringing after them. "Tell me something," Atton said, as they ducked around a corner to avoid a TSF patrol. "Why'd you agree to do it?"

"Do what?" she asked absentmindedly. The patrol passed, and she was off again, glancing left and right to check that no one had seen them. They'd been fairly quiet, but still, bloodstains weren't exactly inconspicuous, even though she'd managed to clean most of them off in Slusk's bathroom.

"Kill Slusk. You knew Luxa was going to shoot us in the back the moment we did—"

"I didn't know that," Carra said. She stopped suddenly and Atton nearly ran into her. "Sorry. This way. I need to call Kreia and tell her where we're going."

"What is she, your mother?" Atton muttered under his breath.

"No," Carra said, ducking into an empty hallway. "But we're leaving Citadel Station, and it wouldn't be nice to leave her behind." She activated her commlink. There was a moment of hurried whispering, while Atton stood by and tapped his foot impatiently, and then Carra turned back to him. "Let's go," she said.

"Look," Atton said, following her, "That's what I don't get. You run around helping the Ithorians and, you know, _not_ leaving Kreia behind, even though you really should—and then first chance you get you turn around and take out the entire Exchange base."

"I—" Carra stopped and looked at him. "We had to," she said finally, not sounding very happy about it. "I would have preferred not to, but—it had to be done." There was a ghost of something strange and dark in her sage green eyes. Atton frowned.

"What do you mean?" he wanted to know.

She shook her head. "We just—_did_. Other things would have come out wrong if we hadn't, and—well, everything is connected—"

Good grief. Carra must have taken the same Advanced Techniques in Incomprehensibility class that Kreia had. She saw his expression and sighed, and that shadow in her eyes grew darker. "It's complicated," she said.

Yeah, clearly his simple un-Jedi mind couldn't wrap itself around it. Atton released his breath in a huff. "Fine."

She gave him a curious look, but kept moving. "We're here," she said at last, stopping in front of a doorway. "Do you want to wait outside?"

"I think I can handle a few green-skinned aliens," Atton retorted, and Carra shrugged.

"All right," she said.

They went in.

Carra had been right—there _was_ greenery and sparkling fountains in the Ithorian compound. And there was a stillness there, too, like the entire place had stopped and cocked its head to listen to a strain of distant music, and Atton, as he passed through the mist of a nearby fountain, was reminded of Dantooine.

It _hurt_, this stillness, and he gritted his teeth and kept walking and counted cards, carefully, in his head.

Next to him, Carra's face had taken on a slightly haunted look, and the shadow was stronger now, with dark jagged edges that lurked just out of sight. Was that why she had been exiled? Atton tore his gaze away. It hurt to look at her.

But even so, he couldn't stop himself from watching as she spoke with Chodo Habat, or noticing the way the jagged edges receded—just a little—when she came away from the conversation, or asking her, as they went on their way to the shuttle that the Ithorians had provided—"What was that about?"

Carra looked a little puzzled herself. "I'm not sure," she said. "He said I needed healing."

"Yeah? Did you?"

She looked down at her hands. For a moment Atton thought he saw sparks leaping across her fingertips; in the next moment, they were gone, and he blinked. "Maybe I did," she said at last.


	7. General

_Go left! No, too far—and not so high!_

_I'm trying, dammit! Why do people try to shoot at us every time you're around!_

_A trained monkey could fly this thing better than—_

--

Atton woke to a sea of concerned faces.

Well, only three, and only one of them was looking concerned, but that was Carra, so that was all right. He tried to sit up and found that his head was pounding.

"What happened?" he wanted to know.

Wait. Three faces? That was Carra, and that was Kreia, and—who the hell was _that_? And why was his arm glowing? And—those were _horns_, weren't they?

"We crashed," Carra said. "Are you all right?"

He rubbed his head. "I think so." He glanced at the—Zabrak, that was it—and said, "Who's that?"

"This is Bao-Dur," Carra said. "He was a tech in the Mandalorian wars."

Atton cast the man another glance. "Yeah?" he said. "Which side?"

"Republic."

Hmm.

"Served under the General here, actually," Bao-Dur added, and Atton was puzzling out this strange statement when a hovering ball of metal crashed into his head.

Predictably, this did not help his headache. Or his mood.

--

"That thing's a menace," Atton told the tech.

"Oh, the remote? He's harmless." Bao-Dur was tinkering with his blaster, small tools popping in an out of his glowing mechanical arm as he worked. The remote buzzed around their heads like a particularly large, annoying fly; Atton scowled and resisted the urge to swat it out of the air. "He seems to like you," Bao-Dur added.

Atton scowled. "Yeah? Great. At least it's got good taste."

Kreia sniffed. "I would hardly call it _good_ taste," she said scathingly.

"Hey, hey, leave my droid out of this," Bao-Dur said mildly. "Anyone see the General? She should be getting back by now."

Atton ducked out of the way as the remote buzzed past him and glared after it. "Why do you keep calling her the General?"

Bao-Dur glanced up, surprised. "She never told you? She was a general in the wars. Served directly under Revan."

Atton whistled. No, he hadn't known; she was a Jedi, of course, anyone could see that, but he'd never heard of her before she'd waltzed into his jail cell half-naked. She hadn't been part of the Sith, he was sure—he would have met such a high-ranking officer. And she hadn't fought for the Republic, either, or else he would certainly have been sent after her—and no one of her description had even showed up on their database. "What'd she do afterward?"

"You'd better ask her that yourself," Bao-Dur said. "I haven't seen her in years."

Atton glanced at Kreia, who was now ignoring them. Bao-Dur had turned back to his blaster. Atton got to his feet. "I'm going to look for Carra," he announced.

Not that anyone cared, or anything. Bao-Dur nodded distractedly; Kreia did not so much as twitch. Grumpily, Atton rose to his feet and set off down the canyon trail. Even the remote seemed to have grown disenchanted. At least Carra was always happy to see him.

Or, at least, didn't ignore him quite as much as everyone else did, which was always something he looked for in a girl. He kicked a rock out of his way. It clattered off the wall of the canyon and tumbled into the grass.

Abruptly the trail ended. Beyond him was the Telos restoration zone in its full glory, verdant green plains stretching out before him; in the distance he could make out mountains, and to his right was the bright bay of the sea.

Right in front of him was a mercenary camp.

It was far away enough for him to duck back into the shadows of the canyon, silently cursing for not having noticed earlier, and close enough for him to make out the slight figure with badly dyed black hair sitting amidst the mercenaries. Atton flipped on his comm.

"Atton?" Bao-Dur's voice said. "Did you find the General?"

"Yeah, she's with a bunch of mercenaries—"

The tech sounded surprised. "What's she doing with the mercs?"

"Sitting down to a nice tea," Atton said sarcastically.

There was silence on the other end of the comm. Atton sighed impatiently. "She doesn't look hurt," he said. "They might have tied her up. Stay there; I'm going to try to sneak in and get her out."

"What if—"

But Atton never heard the rest of the sentence, because he turned off the comm and stuck it back into his pocket. How was he going to do this? Sneak in with a stealth generator, or try to bluff his way through?

Atton grinned. It'd been a long time since he'd impersonated anyone. This might even be fun.

--

The guard stiffened as he approached and raised his blaster. "Stay where you are," he ordered.

"Whoa, whoa," Atton said, raising his hands. "No need for that."

The blaster was still lifted in suspicion. "Who are you?" the mercenary demanded.

Atton grinned. "Drel. Larek Drel. Czerka sent me after a certain prisoner of yours."

The blaster lowered a fraction of an inch. "Where are your credentials?"

Atton grinned again, slower this time, and with more teeth; "Now, now—we're not exactly on the legal side of things here, are we?"

"I suppose." The man squinted at him doubtfully. "You'd better see our leader. Hey!" he shouted over his shoulder, at two nearby guards. "Take this guy to Larissa."

They came up, grumbling at being interrupted from their card game, and glared at Atton with equal suspicion. "Don't try anything," the one on the left warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it." And he wouldn't. They were both at least half a head taller than he was, and nearly twice as wide. They scowled at him, in unison, and the three of them headed off.

Thirteen tents. At least two-dozen mercenaries, then; he saw perhaps fifteen as they walked, but doubtless others were off patrolling. There was a small clearing at the edge of the camp that the guards were taking him; Carra, sitting on a rock with her hands tied behind her, looked up as he approached.

Her eyes widened.

Atton fervently hoped that she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.

"Captain!"

A woman looked up. She was tall and blonde and reminded him, frighteningly, of Jana Lorso, even though the two looked nothing alike. "What?" she demanded.

The guards saluted. "This guy claims he's Czerka," the one on his right said. "Jek said to take him to you."

She cast him an appraising glance. "We only contacted Czerka half an hour ago," she said. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"I've been after her ever since she set foot on Citadel Station," Atton said, nodding toward Carra. "I followed her shuttle down here when she ran. Glad you caught her before she got too far."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Don't need to know that," Atton drawled. "All you need to know that there's a certain Hutt who's very interested in that prisoner of yours."

The captain—Larissa—raised her eyebrows. "Why would the Exchange want _her_?"

"Don't need to know that either," Atton said. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled. "All you need to know is that there's a bounty, and if Czerka collects they'll be feeling generous enough to share."

"A bounty, hmm?" He could see the wheels turning in her head. A bounty would mean credits, and credits would mean getting off this rock—the Exchange put out large bounties or none at all. "How much?"

"Three thousand," Atton said. "Five hundred for you, since you helped capture her."

"_Five hundred!_" The woman leapt to her feet, looking furious. "We captured her and we only get five hundred?"

"Hey, hey, don't shoot the messenger." Atton smiled at her placatingly. "Come on, I'm not authorized to negotiate with you now, am I? Tell you what—send a few of your men back with me when I take her to Citadel Station, and they can talk to Lorso for you. I'll even put in a good word on your behalf with that Hutt—he might throw in a finder's fee."

"Why's she so important?" Larissa wanted to know. "I thought she was just an Ithorian spy."

"Upset a few important people," Atton said easily. "Stepped on a few toes, blew a couple of whistles, broke a deal or two. Nothing you need to worry about. But Exchange wants her in for questioning."

"I see." She seemed to be thinking this over. Atton kept the smile plastered on his face and mentally crossed his fingers. _Three thousand credits—beat at least half out of Lorso—and a finder's fee—_

"All right," the captain said. She nodded at the two guards. "You two, you're coming with us. Bring the prisoner. We'll see how generous Lorso's feeling when she's got my blaster in her face."

Atton could have cheered. Except, of course, that it would have given him away.

--

They were a few minutes into their walk back up the canyon trail when they ran into Bao-Dur's remote.

_About time_, Atton thought to himself, as Larissa pulled out her blaster and fired wildly at it; the remote beeped in alarm and whizzed off. He wouldn't have liked to catch Kreia and the tech unawares no matter how fun it might be.

"What the hell was _that_?" the mercenary captain demanded, staring after the droid.

"Nothing to worry about," Atton said, and shot her in the head.

Carra had slammed herself into one of the guards; he was at least twice her weight, but she threw him off balance enough that his shot scraped Atton's thigh instead of going through his chest. The other guard, slower on the uptake, had barely taken out his blaster before Bao-Dur rounded the corner and shot him in the arm. Atton whirled and fired, aiming from instinct and not conscious thought; behind him he hear Kreia's shout, and one of the guards was flung sideways into the canyon wall.

In a matter of minutes it was over. Three bodies lay on the canyon floor, and Atton, clutching his thigh, leaned against a rock and drew in a deep, shaky breath. He hadn't been sure it would work.

"What was that about?" Bao-Dur wanted to know.

"Carra got captured," Atton said. "I got her out. Hey, anyone have a medpack or something? I'm kind of bleeding over here—"

"The mercenaries will be suspicious," Kreia said, darkly as ever. Atton scowled at her.

"Yeah? Well, I didn't see _you_ even _offering_ to go after her—"

"Stop it, all of you," Carra said. Bao-Dur had managed to cut through her bonds, and she came forwards, rubbing her wrists. "That was very clever of you," she told him. "Thank you. I wouldn't have wanted to fight all of them at once."

He managed a smirk and a ghost of a leer. "Just how thankful are you?"

She smiled up at him. "I'm glad you're all right," she said, and put her hand on his injured leg.

--

There was a flash of—something.

And an echo, like pebbles dropped into a deep abyss, like the faint strains of a half-forgotten song. Atton blinked and the world steadied itself; there was a whisper of music in the air, and then the pain in his leg was gone. The wound was closed.

"You should not have done that," Kreia scolded. "It is yet too early to tell how your reconnection to the Force will affect you."

"I can hear the song," Carra said, straightening up and looking down at her hands. "Why shouldn't I sing it? I remember the words."

"Do you remember what happened the last time you tried it?" Kreia said sharply.

"This is different," Carra said, and for a moment while she was still unguarded Atton caught a glimpse of something that was not that haunted shadow in her eyes; it looked a little like joy, and a little like the plains of Dantooine looked as the wild wind blew across them, and in the next moment it was gone and she was Carra again.

"How's the leg?" she asked him.

"Feels fine." Healing. It was a power that some Jedi had, Atton remembered; you had to take those out on the first try or they'd be on their feet again in no time. Force suppressors worked best if you could get one on them.

Poison was also effective.

"Should I even ask what you did there?" Atton asked. "Or is it some sort of secret Jedi thing beyond the range of my comprehension?"

Kreia sniffed. "We can waste no more time on this foolishness," she snapped. "We must be moving before the mercenaries think to check on their comrades. Let us be off."

Carra sighed and followed. Bao-Dur shrugged and started after them.

Atton took a moment to scowl in Kreia's general direction—just on principle—before bringing up the rear.


	8. Snow and Secrets

Many, many apologies:

First, this is a pretty short chapter, and I was late updating (I try to do it by Sunday of every week).

Second, I've realized that my writing is terrible. Well, all right, not terrible. But it could be better, loads better, and it's because I've realized that I'm bored with what I'm writing, and I want to write more interesting scenes. With, like, kissing, and humor, and angst, and such, instead of rehashing the plot of KOTOR II.

Which brings me to my third point: updates. To all my faithful readers out there (both of you, I know), I am going to have a problem with updates, because I am writing all the scenes out of order. SO. Choices: I can not update until the story is done, which might take a while, or I can update out of order (and post a chronology, which would spoil the steadily derailing plot). Or, if anyone can think of something else I'll consider that. If no one says anything I'll go with the former. So, like, speak up. Both of you.

* * *

Atton crawled from the wreckage of the Czerka shuttle, coughing.

"Why is it," he wondered aloud, "that every time I get in a ship with you Jedi, we end up being shot at, crash landing, or both?"

"And whose fault would the crash landings be?" Kreia demanded, her voice as frosty as the landscape around them. Atton glared at her.

"All right, next time _you_ can try flying the ship when there are rockets being launched at us, and we can see how well you do," he snapped. He pushed himself up. The air was bitterly cold, and he wished that he had something more substantial than his light jacket. His breath came out in small white puffs before him. "That's the second shuttle we've crashed in this week."

Kreia merely snorted. "We must search for the others," she said imperiously, and started around the side of the ship; for an old woman, she moved surprisingly fast. Atton ran after her. Light, powdery snow puffed up with every step.

Of all the places they'd had to go, it was the arctic region. He'd much preferred the warm, balmy restoration zone, even if it was crawling with mercs.

"Kreia! Atton!"

Carra was a few feet away from the smoking wreckage, jogging toward them through the snow. She looked worried. "Bao-Dur's hurt," she said. "Something fell on him. I dragged him out but he's not waking up, and all of our medpacks were on the Hawk—"

"Have you tried healing him?" Atton asked.

"Yes, I've stabilized him, but we need to get him into a kolto tank—"

"You should not have tried that," Kreia said. "Your connection to the Force is still tenuous—"

"I couldn't have left him to die." Carra was shivering. She looked paler than usual, and tense; beyond her, Atton could see the shape of the Zabrak's body lying amidst the snow.

He turned and looked out across the plateau. Behind him, to no one's surprise, Kreia had started lecturing. In front of his was a cold, icy wasteland, with three dark figures approaching; he had a sneaking suspicion what they were.

"Guys," he said, pulling out his blaster. "We've got company."

"What—"

He pointed. "Remember that droid on Peragus II?" he asked. "Three more of them are coming this way."

Carra sighed. "Are they holding a rocket launcher?"

"Yeah, I think they are." He glanced at her. "You aren't going to try and _talk _to them again, are you?"

"They probably have information. Just—hold your fire for a bit—"

"Fine, _fine_—"

The droids clanked closer. Their eyes flashed red. The one holding the rocket launcher dropped it; in unison, they lifted their blasters. Atton groaned. "You should've let me snipe them before they got so close," he muttered to Carra.

She wasn't listening. "Hello," she said. "Did you shoot down our shuttle?"

What was this, a pleasant afternoon tea?

"Disappointed Statement: Ah! I see you are still alive. That is unfortunate." That nasal voice again. Were those things _programmed_ to be annoying? Atton gritted his teeth and cast a sideways glance at Carra.

"Who sent you?" she was asking.

"Chiding Statement: Surely you know better than to expect that we would disclose that information. Eager Threat: However, I'm sure that _all_ parties involved will be very happy to receive your corpse—"

Yes, apparently this _was_ a pleasant afternoon tea. "Oh, shut up," Atton said out loud. "Your assassination protocols are probably outdated and I'll bet you couldn't hit the broad side of a transport with those old blasters of yours—"

"Enraged Exclamation: Prepare to die, meatbag!"

Carra groaned softly and swung into action. Atton flung an ion grenade at the droids. _There_, he thought with satisfaction. _That_ should give them something to really be enraged about—

"You _always_ do this, Atton!" Carra shouted over the sound of blaster fire and irate droid squeaks. Atton grinned to himself.

It always worked, didn't it?

--

They got rid of the assassin droids, and Carra had already started to shiver in the cold winds of the arctic plateau, before any help came.

Though, in retrospect, Atton shouldn't have been quite so quick to call it help.

They stepped through the snow, eerily, like ghosts, and asked them to put down their weapons and of course Carra complied (hissing to him, "_Don't_ start anything this time," as though he would be idiot enough to try to take on five Echani-trained warriors). They called themselves the handmaidens and wore white on white on white—snow, white leather, pale skin, white-blonde hair. Personally, Atton didn't think much of their uniform designer—come on, there couldn't be some, like, _not white_ in there?—but he kept his mouth shut and handed over his blaster when Carra gave him a pointed look.

"More friends of yours?" he muttered under his breath, as the women escorted them into their secret underground lair.

"Perhaps," Carra said.

Bloody cryptic Jedi.

--

Atton ended up getting locked in a force cage again, which was _not_ his idea of a good time, but hey, he was only the pilot in the crazy excursion, wasn't he? Not anyone important at all.

He scowled to himself and wished he could kick something. But the force field would probably scorch his boot off. Now, if that Iridonian tech were here, with that crazy arm of his—

But no, Bao-Dur was being tended to in the infirmary, and _he_ was stuck here with Kreia. _Carra_ was off doing something with the Jedi Master sequestered here. Atton wondered, briefly, why Kreia hadn't gone along—she was a Jedi, too, wasn't she? But she was in the force cage next to him, meditating or something—

No. She was looking at him.

"So," Atton said, a little uncomfortably. "What is this place, anyway?"

"It is a training ground for Jedi," Kreia told him. A straight answer for once—that had to be some sort of record. "Or at least—it bears the resemblance of an academy."

"Huh?"

She cast him a derisive glance. "You are, as always, the image of eloquence," Kreia said scathingly. "Where are all the students? I do not see any—" And then, suddenly, she broke off and chuckled.

"A place hidden from the galaxy," she murmured to herself. "Like Dantooine—but this place—oh, Atris, you have been clever—"

"Atris?"

"None of your concern," Kreia snapped. Now _that_ sounded like the self-righteous Jedi he knew. Atton snorted.

"Jedi," he muttered. "Just my luck to end up in a nest full of them—"

Kreia fixed him with a black look. "And just why," she asked icily, "do you dislike the Jedi so much?"

"Well, you know how they are." Self-righteous, blind, arrogant—not that the Sith were much better, mind you, but at least they weren't bloody _hypocrites_ about it.

"No," Kreia said. "I do not. Not in the way that you do."

And then—

His head split with pain. A _presence_ was in his mind (_My Lord Revan, I have come to report the capture of Jedi Knight Jarl of the Naboo sector—_), wedging its way through his thoughts and memories (_—get me three doses of force poison and some truth serum—_) and it hurt, it _hurt_—

"Get out of my head," Atton growled, summoning all the shields of rage and hate and fury that he could (_—good hunting, Jak—_) but Kreia snorted and pushed through them, and _frack_, what the hell was she (_—I know what you are trying to do, and I will never fall to the dark side—_), no Jedi he had known had ever been able to do that—

(_—you say that now, but let's see what a few hours in the interrogation chambers can do for you—_)

And she was _still_ worming into him, deeper and deeper into his mind (_—you have the most beautiful eyes, he told her, and her blood was crimson against the paleness of her skin—_) and Atton discovered that his throat was raw from screaming.

The floor was cold against his cheek. In the cell next to his, Kreia snorted softly. "Do not worry, 'Atton.' If she is Jedi, she will forgive. If she is not, she will not care."

Carra. _Carra_. "You're not—you won't _tell_ her, will you? I don't want her to—"

"—think less of you? I hardly think that would be possible." Kreia snorted. "There will be a price for my silence."

Of course there would be.

"You know how important this woman we travel with is—even one such as you can feel it. You will serve her until I release you." Kreia smiled. It was a frightening sight. "If you do not, my silence will be broken. And knowing Atris, you will not leave this place alive if she discovers you."

Atris. That Atris again. Atton shoved himself up onto his elbows, tasting something bitter at the back of his mouth; he coughed, and was almost surprised that no blood came out.

But Kreia was still speaking, and her presence was winding into his mind again, slick and deadly as a viper.

"—whatever fear you hold of the Jedi, know that if you disobey me, that my punishment will make you beg for the death that has long eluded you—"

_Wipe the fear from your mind. You will not find blind obedience a difficult master. You chose it once; you will learn to embrace it again._

_Sleep, murderer._


	9. Jedi Knowledge

A/N: Thanks to everyone for their feedback! It was definitely appreciated, and I took the time to work on the cool ending bits that I'd always wanted to write. Generally I try to respond to everyone who reviews, but I'm in the middle of midterms right now so I didn't get to lots of people--but that doesn't mean I don't love you for leaving comments! Your encouragement was definitely much-needed. I'm posting a longish chapter to make up for the slower updates.

* * *

It felt good to be on a ship again, even if the ship did have Kreia on it—_manipulative old witch_, Atton though bitterly—and it was with a tremendous amount of relief that Atton punched in the coordinates for Nar Shadda and watched the _Hawk_ jump to hyperspace.

His relief, however, was doomed to be short-lived, because not an hour later Carra came wandering into the cockpit. Atton peered at her over his shoulder. "Hey," he said. "How's the tech?"

"Bao-Dur's fine," Carra said.

Atton waited for her to say something else, but apparently nothing was forthcoming. His neck was getting a crick, so he swung his seat around and plopped his feet on the empty co-pilot's chair. "Carra?"

"Yes?"

"Look, I know I'm handsome and all, but I'm sure you didn't come in here to admire my stunning good looks—"

"Er," Carra said, and looked uncomfortable. "Would you possibly mind rerouting to Dantooine?"

His heart stopped. Atton stared at her. "_What_?"

"I know you don't like Dantooine—" How the _hell_ had she known that? "—but it's very important that we go there—"

"Yes," Atton said hotly. "Yes, in fact. I do mind. Why do you want to go there? There's nothing there—it's practically a dead planet, and swarming with scavengers and raiders—"

"We _have _to go," Carra said. "It's—it's a Jedi thing."

Atton folded his arms across his chest. "Try again," he snapped.

"Well," Carra said, "it's true."

"You Jedi," Atton said, and he could not keep the bitterness out of his voice, "are all the same. You think you can just go around and tell people what to do, because, hey, you're Jedi, right? And that means you're in charge, and you're not accountable to _anyone_—"

"Atton, how many Jedi have you met?"

Met? If by "met," she meant "hunted down and killed," then perhaps three or four. If by "met," she meant "captured and tortured on Lord Revan's orders," then at least a good dozen.

Atton had been good. Very good. It was the only reason why he was still alive.

"You," he said, turning back to the console. "And Kreia. And if that's all the Jedi I ever meet again for the rest of my life, it'd still be too many."

He heard her sigh, and her footsteps approach his chair; "There's a bounty on the Jedi," she said, as though half the galaxy didn't know already. "And the Sith are hunting them—and I've found a Jedi Master on Telos, who didn't know—"

A name came to him. "Atris."

There was a startled pause. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Kreia mentioned it."

"Yes. Atris. Well, she didn't know about the Sith—and if she didn't know, then the other Masters might not, and I have to warn them."

"And what does this have to do with Dantooine?"

"Master Vrook is there?"

"Carra—" Atton ran his hands through his hair and huffed in exasperation. "Dantooine, as I think I've mentioned, is crawling with mercs. If that Jedi Master of yours was there, he's probably dead by now."

"He's not dead," Carra said.

"How do you know that?" Atton demanded.

Carra slid into the co-pilot's seat and gave him a rather anxious look. "If I say 'It's a Jedi thing,' again, are you going to have an aneurysm?"

Atton groaned. "All right, all right," he said. "I'll put in the coordinates for Dantooine. Just don't be upset when you get there and that Master of yours is _dead_ or something—"

"He's not dead," Carra said again, and she sounded tired. "I wish I could explain, but I can't. He's alive and we must go to him. It needs to be this way. I know it."

He cast her a sideways glance. "Some Jedi thing, huh?"

"I don't know what it is," Carra said. "And none of the Masters did, either. They told me it was the Force moving through me, but—" She broke off, and the shadow was back in her eyes again, dark and heavy, and there was a hint of despair in it. "I don't know. It happened even after I couldn't feel the Force anymore."

Coordinates locked in. The navicomputer was recalculating the jumps. Atton leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, and said, "You're not telling me a lot of stuff."

"Well," Carra said. "I don't know everything either, if that helps."

Atton shook his head. "This thing with the Force—you healed me, but Kreia said—"

"I couldn't feel the Force for a while," she said. "It—it was just gone. And now it's coming back, a little—"

"Chodo Habat." Telos. The Ithorian priest. _That _was why Carra hadn't wanted to work for Lorso—not that _he'd_ particularly wanted to work for her, either, after she _slapped_ him—

"Yes," Carra said, and sighed.

If he'd been anyone else, he might have taken her hand, or patted her awkwardly on the shoulder; but he was Atton Rand, murderer, fallen Sith, and all-around scoundrel—

"We'll be in Dantooine in a few days," he said, turning away from her. "Don't get your hopes up, though. Your Jedi's probably dead."

--

Whatever Kreia might think, Atton wasn't afraid of her.

He had served under Lord Revan—now _that_ woman was terrifying. Not the Kreia was exactly cute and cuddly herself, but she had nothing on the former Dark Lord of the Sith. He could run. He could run, and no one would find him—not Kreia, and certainly not Carra even if the old scow told her; there were dozens of planets on the Outer Rim that could do with another pilot.

And if he were gone it wouldn't _matter_ what Carra thought of him; he wouldn't have to kill her, which was the more important thing.

So the questions was: what was he doing here, on the _Ebon Hawk_, rerouting to Dantooine simply because Carra had asked him to?

She hadn't even asked him to stay, Atton thought bitterly. She had only helped him off the cold floor of Atris' jail cell and said, _I suppose you'll be leaving now?_ And Atton had found himself shrugging and saying, _Nah, I'll stick around for a bit, if you still need a pilot_.

Maybe it had been Kreia, but he doubted it—he would have known if she had gone in that deep and rearranged his mind. And in any case, she needed him intact, if his particular skills were to be put to use—

Maybe it was Carra.

Bao-Dur seemed to take it as a given that he would follow her. Atton snorted to himself. Probably hadn't had much of a life back on Telos. Not that he blamed the tech—mercs and cannoks weren't exactly _his_ idea of a good time, either—but come on, Carra had dragged him from exploding fuel station to freezing Arctic tundra (killer droids following them all the way), and now she seemed intent on taking them to Dantooine, which would most likely be dangerous and boring all at once.

And, oh yeah, probably give him nightmares, too.

--

There hadn't been a shipyard the last time had had been on Dantooine, so Atton was actually glad of the dingy gray walls and chuffed concrete floor when he stepped out of the _Hawk_; they blocked out the grass and the sighing wind, though he could still see the sky, but hey, that wasn't so bad, right?

It was springtime, and chilly in the mornings; Atton wrapped his jacket around him and followed Carra into what passed for the headquarters on this backward planet. This place was going to be just as dull as he had suspected it would be.

Especially considering the twenty or so people already in the waiting room.

Carra was speaking to the receptionist. "The shipyard manager asked me to see the Administrator?"

"You and half the people on this planet," the receptionist sighed. He tapped on the console. "Have a seat. She won't be free for a while, and you might have to come back tomorrow. What's your name?"

"Put me down as Vrook, please," Carra said.

"Sure," the man said. "I'll call you when she's ready to see you."

"Isn't Vrook the guy we're supposed to be finding?" Atton asked as soon as the receptionist was out of earshot.

"Yes," Carra said. "I thought this would get us to the Administrator faster."

"Well, well, well," Atton drawled. "That's pretty clever."

She grinned. "You sound surprised."

"Nah," Atton said. "I always knew you had a duplicitous streak in you." He glanced around the room. "How long are we going to be here?"

"Bored already?"

"This place doesn't even have a cantina," Atton grumbled. "Of course I'm bored. And we're stuck here, waiting for some woman who's probably not even going to see us for a week—"

"You could go back to the ship," Carra offered.

_Kreia_ was on the ship. Atton grimaced. "No, thanks," he said.

"We could play Pazaak."

Atton couldn't help but grin at her. "You don't like Pazaak," he said.

"I'm bored, too," Carra admitted.

"Oh, come on, didn't you grow up here? There must have been something you Jedi did—"

Carra elbowed him. "Keep your voice down," she said under her breath. "People here don't like Jedi much. Not after Dantooine nearly got destroyed."

"Sorry." No one seemed to have noticed, though. "So what _did_ you do?"

"Probably nothing that would interest a jaded man of the world like you," Carra said. "We studied, mostly. Sparred." She smiled, suddenly, and a teasing note crept into her voice. "Though you might appreciate what the padawans got up to along Willow's Creek."

"Yeah? What'd they get up to?"

"Oh, it was very nice there," Carra said. "Quite secluded. Good place to go if you were looking for privacy, and lots of nice mossy banks." She looked as though she were trying to suppress a giggle. Atton rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what's coming," he said. "You'll go on and on about how soft the moss was, and then it'll turn out everybody goes there to—to meditate, or something—"

"Of course not," Carra said. "People went there to have sex."

Atton discovered, much to his horror, that he had been rendered speechless; Carra took one look at his face and burst into laughter. Several people in the waiting room turned to glare at them. Atton could feel himself slowly going red.

"That's not—that's not funny!" he sputtered.

"You're right," Carra said, gasping for breath in between giggles. "I shouldn't lie you like that. Of course we went there to meditate."

"Wait—really?"

She was grinning. "Now you'll never be entirely sure, will you?"

Atton could not help his slow, reluctant smile; "Of all the Jedi in the galaxy," he murmured under his breath, "I get the comedian that runs around in her underwear."

Not that he was complaining about the view.

--

Kill kinrath. Get the mercs to stop bothering the farmers. Rescue lost scavengers.

Atton was only surprised that Carra hadn't agreed to help old grandmothers cross the street; then again, Khoonda did only have two streets.

And they weren't even going to be getting _paid_ to do most of this stuff. Except for the bounty on the kinraths, and _that_ job was likely to get the lot of them killed. When Atton pointed this out to Carra, she only shrugged at him, a little helplessly.

"We need to visit the caves anyway," she said, in that tone that implied she didn't know why. "Might as well do Adare a favor."

"Ok, I can understand that you can't understand why you need to do some of this stuff," Atton said, frustrated. Carra was bent over the workbench on the _Ebon Hawk_, having taken a sudden interest in the utility droid; at any other time he would have taken the opportunity to ogle her, but he was currently too annoyed, which really said something about the state of his temper. "But do you _have_ to go around and offer to help everyone you come across? I mean, it's only slowing us down, and there are Sith after you—"

"I'm a Jedi, Atton," Carra said. She glanced up at him; Atton was leaning against the wall next to her, scowling down and the parts of disassembled droid on the table. "We're supposed to help people."

"Jedi can be pretty damn ruthless when they're after something."

"Well," Carra said, carefully turning a memory disk over in her fingers, "maybe I don't want to be that sort of Jedi."

"What sort do you want to be? Dead?"

She shrugged. "Most of the Jedi are already dead, anyway."

Atton couldn't believe how obtuse she was being. "And you want to _join_ them?"

Carra glanced at him curiously. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look dreadful. And you're terribly grumpy."

"Nightmares," Atton said shortly. "About being shot in the back while we're off rescuing kittens."

"No," Carra said. "That wasn't what you had nightmares about."

No, of course it hadn't been; he had almost forgotten how startling her eyes had been, until he had dreamt her last night, and he had woken up gasping into the darkness with the sound of the wind gusting against his window; perhaps he didn't have a heart, but there was a sharp echoing pain in the place where it should have been. What was he supposed to tell Carra? That halfway through her dark eyes had suddenly turned green, and then he had broken her neck?

"I told you we should've gone to Nar Shadda," Atton grumbled. "I don't see how doing any of this stuff gets us closer to finding Vrook."

"It doesn't, actually," Carra said. "Vrook's gone missing."

Atton groaned.

--

"She says 'jump,' I say 'how high?'" Atton muttered bitterly to himself, and shot a laigrek in the head.

Bao-Dur, who was actually surprisingly good in a firefight, glanced over at him. "Yeah," he said. "The General has that effect on people."

"We've been in here for hours," Atton said, stomping out from behind the crates and kicking the laigrek's body across the floor. "We don't even know what we're looking for. And where the bloody hell is Carra? Wasn't she behind you when we ran in here?"

"No," Bao-Dur said. "I thought she was in front of you."

The two men surveyed the damaged room. Bao-Dur's remote beeped at them; the tech sighed, and said, "Remote says she ran into a side hallway."

"Damn."

"Yeah. Some of those laigreks might have followed her."

Atton scowled. "I knew coming here was a bad idea," he muttered. "But does anyone listen? Nah, I'm just the _pilot_—" They picked their way through the wreckage. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway; Atton cocked his head and held up his hand. "Hold up," he said. "I think I hear something."

Yeah, there was definitely the sound of metal on metal coming from further up. Atton cursed.

The two of them—three, if you counted that annoying robot—dashed down the hall. Atton dashed a bit too quickly going around the corner, tripped over a laigrek corpse, and went tumbling to the ground just in time for another laigrek to jump on him; he had only a moment to register the searing pain leaping across his chest, and then—

Two inches of polished metal appeared in front of his nose. The vibroblade had gone right through the thing's head.

"Thanks," Atton gasped, and glanced up to see a very blond, very good-looking man frowning down at him.

"You should not have jumped in like that," the man admonished. "You could have been hurt."

Atton scowled and shoved the corpse away. "Who the hell are you?"

"Mical," the man said. He glanced around. "I think that was the last of them. Carra! I believe have found your companions!"

Atton got to his feet. Carra appeared from behind an overturned table; it seemed that, at some point, this room had been a library—there were chairs and broken datapads scattered everywhere. "Atton!" she said, with relief. "Where did you two go?"

"Down the wrong hallway, apparently," Atton said. Bao-Dur, who had been slightly less reckless in his headlong sprint, was carefully picking his way through the scattered laigrek corpses.

"General," he said. "You all right?"

"Yes." She shook the hair back from her face; the dye had finally worn off, and Atton had been very disappointed to discover that her hair was a very ordinary sort of brown, but he supposed one couldn't have everything. "Mical, this is Bao-Dur, our ship tech, and this is Atton."

"The pilot," Atton added.

Mical bowed. "A pleasure to meet you," he said gravely.

What was wrong with this guy? Had he been reading too many romances? Maybe had a datapad or two smashed over his head?

"Mical's been studying the Jedi traditions," Carra added, and Atton couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Actually," Mical said, "I did not have the chance to ask you earlier, as we were interrupted, but I was wondering—perhaps I could join you? If you would have me, I can apply my knowledge and skills to helping you find the answers you seek, and, of course, I would greatly appreciate the possibility of working with a true Jedi—"

"Look, we're already full up," Atton interrupted. "We don't need anyone else. Traveling light, and all that—"

"We'd love to have you," Carra said at the same time.

They looked at each other. "Come on," Atton complained. "Do we really have room for this guy? I'm already bunking with Bao-Dur, and you're in the other room with Kreia—"

"There are a few rooms on the ship we haven't looked at yet," Carra said.

"Look, unless you want to share my bed or something—not that I'd object to that, mind you—I seriously doubt there are going to be any spare bunks on the _Hawk_—"

"You should not speak to a Jedi in such a manner!" Mical said indignantly.

Atton blinked. "Huh?"

"_Propositioning_ her. It is—_highly_ improper."

"Huh?"

Bao-Dur chuckled. "Don't mind him," he told Mical. "Atton here flirts like he breathes. He doesn't mean any of it."

"Yes, I do!" Atton protested.

Mical looked torn. Carra sheathed her vibroblades and shook her head. "I would love to have you join us, Mical," she said. Then, to Atton, with a hint of mischief in her eyes, "If you let him come along, I'll sleep with you if we absolutely cannot find any spare beds on the _Hawk_."

All three of them stared at her. Atton was the first to find his voice. "Wait—really?"

"Yes," Carra said, grinning.

"Right, then," he drawled. "You'd better not try to wriggle out of it, I've got _witnesses_—"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Carra said. "How about it, Atton?"

There was definitely something suspicious about her proposition, but Atton couldn't put his finger on it. "All right," he said.

Mical looked appalled. "Carra, you shouldn't do this—"

"Oh, it's all right," Carra said cheerfully. "Welcome aboard, Mical." Then, to Bao-Dur, who had, for some reason, started smiling: "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"

"I'll let you do the honors, General," Bao-Dur said, sounding as though he were trying to suppress a chuckle. Atton narrowed his eyes.

"What'd I miss?" he demanded.

"Not much," Carra said. She smiled. "Just the bed in the medbay."

The medbay.

_Dammit_.


	10. Kinrath Cave

A/N: Ok, it's midterms week(s), so clearly the right thing to do is write fanfic instead of studying.

Uh. Yeah.

This chapter was a bit rushed (I wrote most of it during my econ review session) so if there are any typos or whatever tell me and I'll fix them; enjoy this special installation of Author Procrastinates by Writing Fanfic.

Please review, as it would go a long, long way to making me feel less guilty when I fail all my exams.

* * *

"You're upset," Carra remarked.

Atton scowled at her over the top of his pazaak hand. "I'm not upset," he snapped.

She peered at his cards. "Are you playing pazaak with yourself?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Nothing," Carra said, a bit too hastily.

Atton sighed and gathered up his cards. "What do you want? Because, you know, unless you want this ship to go somewhere, or you need me to shoot something, I'm sure there's a certain blond in the _medbay_ who wants to talk to you."

"You _are_ upset," she said. "Do you _want_ to shoot something? Because we still haven't gone to the kinrath cave—"

"Great," Atton said bitterly. "Killing kinraths. That'd be really fun. I mean, obviously it can't compare to crawling through ruins fighting off the laigreks, but I suppose I'll take what I can get—"

"I think Vrook's there," Carra added, and Atton rolled his eyes. More Jedi. As though two—and a half, if you counted Mical—weren't enough. He'd only spent the past few years trying to run away from them.

"If you need me along, I'll come," Atton said grudgingly.

Carra sighed. "Come on, Atton, you might as well tell me. I'll figure it out eventually."

Atton huffed in exasperation. "_Fine_. I'm upset because Mical is a stuck-up, self-righteous, sanctimonious prude! I can't believe you invited him along."

"What did he do?"

"Let's see," Atton said, ticking things off on his fingers. "He's informed me that I was not to entertain lewd thoughts of you. He's tried to get me to give up drinking. He's got stupid hair, and no sense of humor, and talks like he's in an archaic holovid—"

Carra had, for some reason, started laughing. "You just have to tell the right jokes," she said. "But really, he's not so bad—"

Well, Mical certainly wasn't as bad as _Kreia_, but for some reason he annoyed Atton more. "Why couldn't you stick to nice guys like Bao-Dur?" Atton grumbled.

"Because I wouldn't want to throw you out of the airlock," Carra said. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Do you want to come? You don't have to."

Atton sighed. "Yeah, I'll come."

--

He had had nightmares again the night before; there had been fire and desperate screaming, and Atton hadn't been exactly sure what he'd been dreaming about, but at any rate it hadn't been pleasant; he wished, bitterly, that he had never come to Dantooine.

And he had forgotten what it was like to be out on the plains proper, with the wind singing through the grass and the vast empty sky above him—it _hurt_, and Atton shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and gritted his teeth and kept on walking. _She_ had never said hearing the Force would be a painful thing. _She_ had never told him that she would haunt him through it. Why Dantooine, anyway? There wasn't anything particularly special about the planet, it was just grass and kath hounds and a few derelict farmhouses—

"Atton?" That would be Carra. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said.

Couldn't she feel it? She was a Jedi, wasn't she? Why didn't it hurt _her_ to walk through the plains?

Maybe, Atton thought, it was different for Jedi. He snorted to himself. Maybe they were _special_.

Her eyes had been dark, dark, dark, like the space between the stars, and he couldn't even remember now how he had killed her, only the way she had looked at him as she died.

Frack. He hated this place.

Carra's hand was on his elbow. The echoing pain ebbed a bit, and he glanced down at her. "What?"

She was carefully not looking at him. "You don't like this place."

"No kidding," he snapped.

Her grip tightened. "You wouldn't want to tell me why, would you?"

"You want to tell me why you got exiled?"

"I followed Revan into the Mandalorian wars," Carra said. "She made me a General. I—I knew what we had to do to win." She sighed. "But it got a lot of people killed. So the Council exiled me for it—I suppose it was Malachor, really—"

"You were the general who ordered the destruction of Malachor V?" Atton demanded.

"Yes," Carra said. She looked up at him, that shadow in her eyes, and said, very seriously, "It hurt when Malachor died, Atton. And then I couldn't feel the Force anymore."

"Frack, Carra, I wasn't expecting you to actually _tell _me."

He hadn't know she was behind Malachor.

Carra shrugged. "You wanted to know," she said. "And I trust you."

Why? He would only betray her, as he'd betrayed every cause he'd served. But, Atton supposed, Carra didn't know that.

She had destroyed a planet.

_He_ had only killed a handful of Jedi. Atton snorted. For some reason the thought did not cheer him up. "Where's this cave, anyway?" he asked.

"Close," Carra said, and they didn't speak the rest of the short walk there.

She only let go of him once they were in the cave, but underground he couldn't hear the wind sighing at him, and it didn't hurt to breathe; the place was dark and dank and crawling with kinrath, but Carra seemed to know where she was going, so he followed her down the twisting dark tunnels and shot at anything that moved. Carra, with her vibroblades, was soon splattered with kinrath blood, and bleeding from half a dozen scratches—Mical, Atton thought uncharitably, would probably be more than happy to help patch her up. He wondered why she didn't simply heal herself. It was probably another Jedi thing.

They moved on, and soon the walls started glowing; Carra pointed to the crystals growing from the stone, and said, "We used to harvest our lightsaber crystals from this cave."

"The Jedi Enclave?"

"Yes," she said, and stopped to look at a glowing shard. The green crystal cast an eerie glow on her face. For a moment she looked thoughtful.

Then she smiled. "I'm a Jedi, aren't I?"

"Uh," Atton said. "Is that a trick question? Because, you know, normally I'd say yes, but—"

"Let's go," Carra said, as though she hadn't been listening to a word he'd said. Atton rolled his eyes. How could she not be a Jedi? She was so bloody cryptic sometimes.

They went through the caves, and slowly the number of kinrath they came across diminished; the caves were getting wider now, the crystal formations more fantastical. The singing hard started up again—a curve of music just at the edge of his hearing, bright and clear and lovely, and Atton discovered that he was getting a headache.

"What are we even looking for?" he demanded, and Carra said, very succinctly, "Vrook," but they were clearly going in the wrong direction.

He couldn't enter the last chamber with her; his head was pounding, and he claimed exhaustion as he leaned against the rocky stone wall and watched her enter the cave alone; the glow of hundreds of thousands of crystals were coming from the cavern, and the singing was sharp and bright against his mind. Carra came out a little while later, looking thoughtful.

There hadn't been any kinrath in there, Atton knew.

They moved back out into the tunnels. Soon the singing faded, and his headache disappeared; Atton wondered what it was about Dantooine that made him so miserable. It was like the entire bloody planet was some sort of magnifier for the Force. How could Jedi talk about opening themselves up to it when there merest contact _hurt_?

Clearly, they were all insane.

When they finally found Vrook they didn't so much see him as nearly trip over the mercenary camp holding him captive. Atton only barely stopped brooding in time to notice that there was a group of heavily armed humans up ahead; Carra didn't notice, and kept on walking. He grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her to a stop. "Mercs," he hissed in her ear.

She craned her neck. "Vrook's there," she whispered back, and Atton grimaced.

"Don't just go charging in there," he said quietly, tugging her back. "There's loads of them. We'll get slaughtered."

Footsteps. A guard was coming toward them; Atton swore silently to himself and pulled them both into a crevice in the rock wall. Carra, pressed up against his shoulder, made a sound of protest as he hauled her against him; he clapped a hand over her mouth.

The guard paused, just a few feet away, and cocked his head as though he were trying to hear something. The edge of the pool of light was just a little ways away and Atton hoped, desperately, that the guard couldn't make out their shadows against the rock.

After a moment the guard shrugged and moved on. Atton grabbed Carra's arm and pulled her away, back down the dark tunnel, and didn't stop until they were well out of earshot of the camp.

"We have to get Vrook out," Carra was protesting. "Didn't you see him? He was in a force field—"

"To hell with Vrook," Atton said, frustrated. "I'm not going to let you risk getting yourself killed over this. He's a Jedi, he can stay alive until we come back with some militia."

"They might _kill_ him before then!"

Atton crossed his arms and glowered at her, an effort which was, unfortunately, mostly lost in the darkness. "They might kill _you_," he snapped.

Her hand was on his arm. "Are you _worried_ about me, Atton?"

"Carra," Atton bit out, "now is not the time to explore my feelings. Now is the time to get the hell out of here."

"I'll just talk to them," she said.

"And they'll shoot you on sight. Don't be an idiot, we're leaving—"

Even in the dimness there was no mistaking the stubborn tilt of her jaw.

He growled in frustration and briefly contemplated picking her up and forcibly carrying her away. No, that probably wouldn't work; he'd seen her in action, and she could knock him flat on his back in a close-up fight. "If those mercs don't kill you," Atton said, "I will. All right, _fine_. If I wind up dead, I hope you'll feel guilty."

"Atton—"

But he was already stalking back up the tunnel toward the camp. "Stay hidden until I give you the signal," he snapped.

"What signal?" Carra wanted to know.

"You'll know it when you see it," Atton said, and flicked on his stealth generator.

She stopped at the edge of the lights of the camp, but Atton kept walking, sticking to the edges of the cavern and moving as silently as he could; Vrook, in his force field cage at the other end of the camp, was looking irritated and impatient, and Atton was quite certain that he could tell they were there. Vrook probably wouldn't even thank them, Atton thought bitterly. Jedi. When was he ever going to get away from them?

He crept up behind the mercenary captain and locked his arm around the man's throat. His stealth generator flickered off; in a flash his other hand was holding a blaster to the captain's head.

"Move, and he gets it," Atton announced pleasantly to the stunned band of mercenaries.

--

He was right. Vrook didn't thank them. Instead, he chewed them out for being—what was it, "hot-headed young fools"?

Yeah, probably close enough.

After he was gone, Atton leaned against the rocky wall at the mouth of the kinrath cave and glared at Carra. "I _told_ you we shouldn't have rescued him," he snapped.

Carra, who was looking in the direction that Vrook had gone, sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "He's always like that—I should've warned you."

"No, you should've _listened_ to me and left when I said we should—"

But Carra was shaking her head. "We couldn't have," she said. She looked up at him. "Thank you," she added. "For helping. How did you know kidnapping the captain would work?"

They'd let the captain go a few tunnels back; he'd snarled and promised to wreak revenge on them all before running away. Atton shrugged. "Why do you think merc bands stick together even when they're out of work?" he asked. "It's the captain. A good captain keeps his band together." No matter what. Atton snorted. "Though it was quite possible that the mercs wouldn't have cared if I'd shot him, and _then_ we'd have been in trouble."

"Was that likely?"

Atton scowled. "More likely than I would have liked."

"Well," Carra said, sounding remarkably cheerful for someone who had only barely managed to escape a blaster shot through the head, "we'd best get going. Vrook will probably want to talk to us back at the compound."

"You're going back to talk to _Vrook?_" Atton demanded. "Why the hell would you want to do that? He didn't even thank us. And you're _bleeding_."

She blinked at him. "Not very much."

Jedi. It was a wonder there were any left; they had the survival instincts of a suicidal gizka. Furious, Atton snapped, "_Fine_," and stalked off into the plains.

His anger, at least, made it harder to hear the Force—or at least, it drowned it out—and Atton kicked viciously at a tuft of grass and wished he had a glass of juma. Frack, he probably needed a whole bottle. Was she _trying_ to get herself killed? Because she was making some damned fine attempts, from what he could see, and it _hurt_ when he thought of her dying, and Atton was sure that it wasn't just about Carra, but he was also quite, quite positive that he didn't care—

"Atton, listen—"

"Stow it, Carra," he snapped, and thought of how furious he was and how much he hated the Jedi; anything but that misery that was threatening the edges of his mind. "Tell it to Vrook. If you want to get yourself killed, that's fine by me—" (it wasn't, it _wasn't_) "—but leave me out of it next time, all right?"

He could feel her looking at him, but Atton scowled and kept his eyes straight ahead and kept walking; after a moment he heard her sigh. He felt her fingers brush against the back of his hand and curl around his wrist; the sharp edge of the pain faded, and Atton looked across the plains and wondered, briefly, if he would have found the prairie beautiful if it didn't hurt to look at it.

They walked, not speaking, and not quite holding hands, all the way back to the _Hawk_, where Carra let Mical slather kolto on her cuts.


	11. Compromise

A/N: Is it just me, or are my chapters getting longer?

* * *

En route to Nar Shadda, Atton discovered that T3 had had a piloting program installed not too long ago, which freed up a considerable chunk of his time as he could now bully the droid into watching the ship for him.

So it was after an extended lunch break that Atton returned to the cockpit to find the droid gone, and Carra sitting in his seat, bent over the controls in a way that indicated she had no idea what any of them did. She looked up as he approached.

"What are you doing here?" Atton wanted to know. "And why are you in my chair? And where's T3?"

"He's on the lower deck with Bao-Dur," Carra said. "Don't worry, he can monitor the navicomputer from anywhere on the ship."

Atton cursed. The little bugger hadn't told him _that_ particular nugget of information. He nudged Carra with his knee. "Come on," he said. "Let me make sure that droid hasn't put us on a collision course with some asteroid or something."

She slid, reluctantly, over to the co-pilot's seat. "I was hoping we could talk," she said.

He spared her a glance. "Yeah? About what?"

"Dantooine."

"No," Atton said.

"But—"

"Look, if you want to talk I'm sure Mical would be more than happy to oblige," Atton said. "But in case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of flying a ship here—"

"Atton," Carra said, with some asperity, "you leave this thing on auto-pilot most of the time. And T3's watching it, too. And we're in hyperspace."

"Yeah, well, it was a hint," Atton said. "About me not wanting to talk."

Carra sighed. "You can't avoid me forever. The Hawk's a fairly small ship."

And didn't he know it. He and Kreia had taken to glaring at each other as they passed in the hallways. And _Mical_—ugh. The man was so damned polite. Clearly there was something wrong with him; perhaps he had been dropped on his head as a small child.

"I'm not avoiding you," Atton said. "Look, I'm sitting right here, and we're talking."

There was an expectant silence from Carra. After a moment, he cast her another glance. "What?"

"You aren't going to make some comment about how our time could be better spent doing something other than talking?"

Atton raised his eyebrows. "What?"

She stared at him. "What did I do?" she asked. "You're really angry with me."

"Yeah? How'd you figure that?"

"You haven't tried to flirt with me in days," she said. "That's usually a good sign. Or a bad one, I suppose."

"Huh. I knew you couldn't resist my charm."

"You didn't even _leer_ at me that time," Carra said. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them; her green eyes had gone all forlorn. "Or smirk. You usually at least smirk."

"And risk another lecture from Mical?" When had she learned so much about him? And when had she noticed the smirking?

"Mical needs to learn to unwind a bit," Carra said, and it was Atton's turn to stare. One side of her mouth tilted up in a small half-smile. "He's not a Jedi, Atton. And even if he were—well, I wouldn't want anyone to be _that_ sort of Jedi."

"Yeah? And what sort of Jedi would that be?"

She sighed. "Stop changing the subject."

"I didn't even know we_ had_ a subject," Atton objected. "First you waltz in here and steal my chair, and then you complain that I'm not flirting with you—"

"It was more of an observation, really—"

There was the sound of someone awkwardly clearing his throat from the door. Both Atton and Carra swung around; Mical was standing next to the galaxy map, looking embarrassed.. "Excuse me," he said. "I do hope I'm not interrupting. But Carra—Bao-Dur says that he has found the parts you need."

"Thanks, Mical," Carra said. She gave Atton a look. "I'll drop by later," she said, and walked out of the cockpit.

Both men watched her leave. Atton suppressed a snort of laughter. "Nice legs, huh?" he said to Mical, and watched in amusement as the other man sputtered and went red.

--

They landed on Nar Shadda without incident, though Mical looked a little worried after Atton assured him the landing dock _probably_ wouldn't collapse under the _Hawk _while they were gone—the man was, in all honesty, a bit too easy.

He couldn't wait to get off the ship and hit the nearest cantina—there hadn't been much to do on the _Hawk_ but look after the flight controls and bait Mical.

Of course, his enthusiasm disappeared Carra announced to everyone her latest plan.

--

"You _want_ the Exchange to come after you," Atton said flatly.

"That's the general idea," Carra said.

"Frack, Carra, _why?_"

"It is a good idea," Kreia said. They were in the _Hawk_'s main cabin, all of them—or Atton, at least—eager to get the hell off the ship. "You will certainly draw out the Jedi Master—he will not be able to resist staying away from such a source of turmoil."

"It's a terrible idea!" Atton exploded. "You'll get yourself killed!"

"I have every faith in your abilities, Carra," Mical said, and Atton wondered if he could punch him and get away with it.

"I'm with Atton on this one," Bao-Dur said—at last, _someone_ with some sense— "The Exchange isn't going to like this, and they're pretty powerful—"

"They already have a bounty on me," Carra said. "How much worse could it get?"

"They could be _collecting_ on that damn bounty," Atton said.

Kreia was eyeing him in a way he didn't like. "If you are so worried," the old Jedi remarked, "perhaps you should go with her. To make certain she is—safe."

He didn't want to be seen _anywhere_ near _either_ of them. Atton scowled. "Fine, whatever," he said. "You'll just do what you want, anyway—I don't see why you even bother asking any of us for advice."

"At least you are good for a temporary shield, fool," Kreia sniffed.

"He's not a fool," Carra said mildly. Then, to Atton: "No one is going to die. The bounty hunters have a truce on Nar Shadda—they won't attack while I'm here."

Mical was nodding, and even Bao-Dur was looking halfway convinced by this argument. Atton glanced at Kreia. She was as impassive as ever, but he was certain this wouldn't work on Kreia who was probably even more cynical than he was.

He'd thought _she_, at least, wouldn't want Carra hurt—after all, wasn't that what the old scow had been harping on about all throughout Peragus? What game was the old witch playing?

Jedi, he thought bitterly.

They headed off the ship.

--

Carra was off to annoy some Exchange thugs.

Atton headed to the nearest cantina to get roaring drunk. The bounty money from the kinrath should be good for that, at least; Mical, of course, went trailing after Carra like a besotted puppy, and Bao-Dur headed in the direction of the shops.

Kreia had just announced, cryptically, that she had "matters to attend to," and vanished.

But Atton couldn't even get drunk in peace. He had just downed his second shot of juma, and was chatting up a very nice Twi'lek dancer, when Mical sidled up to him looking both morose and slightly offended. Atton gave him an annoyed look.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed at Mical.

"Who's your friend?" the dancer asked, her blue skin luminescent in the nightclub lights; Mical bowed—Atton tried not to roll his eyes—and said, very politely, "My name is Mical."

He wasn't even looking at her chest or anything. "Nice to meet you," the dancer said, smiling that impish smile that Atton knew meant trouble. "What's a nice boy like you doing with a scoundrel like him?"

"Oh." Mical looked taken aback. "I—er—we came here on the same ship."

"Really?" the twi'lek purred, leaning against the bar. "Want to buy me a drink, Mical?"

"Hey!" Atton said, offended. She hadn't asked _him_ to buy her a drink.

Mical was looking flummoxed. "I—certainly, miss. Um. What would you like?"

"You don't even know her name," Atton hissed in Mical's ear. Well, to be honest, neither did he, but he's seen the girl first. Mical gave him a helpless look and motioned the barkeeper over.

Disgusted, Atton finished his drink and eyed the rest of the crowd. Nope, no other girls worth his time here; the twi'lek was busy batting her eyelashes at Mical, and the other man was trying desperately to get Atton's attention, but Atton pretended not to see.

"Well," Atton announced. "I'll be off."

Mical looked desperate. Atton patted him on the back and took the opportunity to whisper, "Two more drinks and she's yours for the night," in his ear.

Mical looked horrified.

Grinning to himself, Atton left. Had he really just lost a girl to _Mical_?

Yeah. Yeah, he had.

Well, at least Mical-baiting was as fun as ever.

The night was still young—by the Nar Shadda clock, anyway—so Atton turned and headed for the markets. Maybe he would pick up some new mods for his blaster; he'd heard good things about a certain stabilizer. He might even try to pick up a new girl—though at the rate things were going, Bao-Dur would probably swoop out of nowhere at the worst possible moment.

Or Kreia. Ew. Atton shuddered at the thought.

Come to think of it, wasn't Bao-Dur around here somewhere? Maybe the tech could suggest a few things—

Atton rounded the corner and ran into a group of thugs.

Today wasn't going to be his day, was it?

Luckily for him, they weren't looking his way; the street was deserted, and they were looking pretty focused on pinning a cowering man against the wall. Something about not paying his dues.

Not smart to stand up the Exchange, Atton thought, and tried carefully to back away without attracting their attention.

Of course, Carra had to appear.

She sure knew how to make a dramatic entrance, at least; the light from the streetlamps hit her at just the right angle to cast a glittering halo around her, turning her eyes to sparkling emerald and gilding her otherwise-ordinary hair with gold. "Let him go," she said, from the other end of the street, and her voice was bright and clear and deadly.

Atton groaned to himself. She wasn't, was she?

Yeah, she was.

The thugs still hadn't seen him; neither, it seemed, had Carra. The entire little crowd turned toward her and Atton watched the whole drama play out, like a cheesy scene from a holovid.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the thugs demanded, drawing out his blaster—there were three, Atton noted, all of them fairly well armed, quite burly, with at least three illegal modifications to their weapons that he could see from here—

"A Jedi," Carra said serenely, and held something out before her.

The crowd eyed it warily.

Two blades of violet light shot forth from her hand, and she swung her lightsaber, lightly, in a fancy move that brought one end spinning over her head and the other slicing through the tip of the first thug's blaster. He stared at the smoking weapon in his hands.

Then there was some shooting.

Atton managed to take down a thug with a well-timed sniper shot, but after that things went to hell. Carra got shot at some point, clearly still unused to moving with the 'saber—when had she gotten that thing, anyway?—and the man being threatened ran away; finally, however, there was a body on the ground and the two other thugs were fleeing for their lives. Atton holstered his blaster. Carra was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily; she was bleeding from a shot to the knee.

"I can't believe you did that," Atton said, low and furious, as he stalked over to her.

She looked up at him and managed a smile. "Atton," Carra said. The violet light disappeared; she tucked the lightsaber back into her belt.

"Can you walk?" he demanded.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were out drinking—"

"_Can you walk_?"

Carra bit her lip. Her face was very pale. "No," she said.

And she wouldn't heal herself—another one of those stupid Jedi things that was going to get her killed. Atton scowled at her. "Stay here," he ordered, and went off to find a speeder.

It was fortunate that, on Nar Shadda, public speeders weren't programmed to ask annoying questions, like where were their credentials and why was one of its passengers dripping blood on its floor? Atton had bound up Carra's knee as best he could on the short trip back to the _Hawk_, but she really needed a med-pack, and having a medic look at her wouldn't hurt, either. She was quiet the whole way. Atton had to carry her back into the ship.

She only spoke when he had finished administering a med-pack. "Why are you angry with me?" Carra asked, looking lost, and a little forlorn.

Because she was fracking _suicidal_, that's why. Atton scowled at her and went to the doorway of her room. The ship was empty; no one else was back yet. He slammed the door shut, just in case T3 decided to wander by, and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because you're going to get yourself killed," Atton snapped. "I didn't agree to sign on as a pilot for a dead woman, Carra."

"But—"

"The Jedi Council threw you out," Atton said, talking over her. "Why the hell are you trying to help them now? Vrook yelled at you for helping him. And you never _listen_ when I say something, you just go charging right ahead and _nearly die_, and it's like you don't even realize it or something—"

"I'm not dead yet," she pointed out, as though that couldn't change in a heartbeat. Or a lack of one.

"And that lightsaber. _Frack,_ Carra, where did you get that thing?"

"Bao-Dur helped me make it—"

That cave on Dantooine. "Yeah, well, I can make things too," Atton said. "You want me to make you a flashing sign over your head that says 'Jedi' in red letters? Because that would be less obtrusive than that _thing_ you're carrying around—"

"I'm _trying_ to get the Exchange to notice me—"

"—or, you know what, how about a _siren_, so you can shout it from the rooftops, I mean, what if someone doesn't get close enough to see the sign—"

"_Atton_."

He stopped and looked at her. One corner of her mouth tilted up into a rueful half-smile; "I didn't know you were so worried," Carra said.

He should have given up. He should have smirked, and said something halfway snarky and halfway flirtatious, and then gone off to bed; but perhaps Atton was tired of being a coward. "Yeah," he said. "I didn't, either."

And he wasn't angry anymore, which was unfortunate; he had thought he'd left that echoing pain behind him when they'd left Dantooine. But hey, who said she couldn't haunt him here? Ghosts were even harder to escape than the Sith or the Exchange. Atton let his arms drop to his sides. Carra watched him, head tilted, green eyes thoughtful, as he walked over to her.

"If you're going to die," Atton told her, "I'm not sticking around for it."

She looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry," Carra said, at last. "I suppose—I can be reckless sometimes, I know—I was always getting in trouble with the Masters for it. I used to fall off cliffs and things, back on Dantooine, and I could never finish any of the meditation poses—"

Somehow, he had no trouble imagining her as a rapscallion.

"I didn't mean to worry you," she added, and Atton sighed and sat down next to her. He'd forgotten how slight she was; it had been, after all, quite a long time since he'd seen her in her underwear, and in the meantime she'd been fending off kinrath and thugs and Sith assassins. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that she was anything but a Jedi.

"How's your knee?" he asked instead.

Carra stretched out her leg, wincing a bit. "It'll be fine in a day or so," she said. "I don't think I need to see a medic. Atton—"

"What?"

"Please don't go. I could—really use the help. And the piloting."

"Yeah?" He managed a smile. "Even though we keep crashing?"

"People keep shooting at us!"

That's what _he_ kept saying, but did anyone listen to him? "Look," Atton said. "Promise me something. Don't try to pull off any more stupid stunts, ok? I mean, they look nice in the holovids but honestly a swing like that left you wide open for a shot straight to the side—"

"I didn't know you knew so much about lightsaber styles," Carra commented, and Atton mentally cursed himself for the slip.

"Well, just goes to show what a bad move it was, if even _I_ could tell." He glanced down at her. "Take someone with you next time, all right? I _know_ you sent Mical away, there's no way he would've gone looking for me on his own."

"All right," Carra said. "I'll try to take some of you with me next time I'm walking into certain death—that didn't help either, did it?" she added, catching the look on his face.

"Nope. Try again."

She leaned her cheek into his shoulder and sighed; Atton was very proud of himself for not jumping out of his skin at the touch. "I'm sorry," Carra said again. "I didn't mean to be an idiot about it all."

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared about him enough to apologize—well, technically he could, but Atton hardly wanted to think about _her_—especially when Carra was going on about being killed—

_She_ had listened to him and wound up dead anyway.

Atton forcibly dragged his thoughts away. He glanced down at Carra; her cheek was pale against the dark leather of his jacket, and she was, very carefully, not looking at him. "You're the worst Jedi I've ever met," Atton said.

She let out something that was half a laugh and half a sigh. "Knowing you, that was probably a compliment."

"It was," Atton said. "Remember the last time a Jedi admitted she was wrong?"

Carra paused.

"Yeah, neither do I," Atton said.

The corners of her mouth tilted up. "I can't decide whether to be pleased or offended."

"Hey, it was a compliment."

"If I promise to listen to you more, and try not to get myself killed, will you forgive me?"

It was probably too much to hope that she'd give up this crazy idea altogether. "I suppose it's a good start," Atton conceded.

Carra lifted her head and peered up at him. "Only a good start?"

Atton managed a smirk. "Well," he drawled, reaching out and wrapping his arm around her waist, "I can think of a couple other things you can do, too—you know, to speed the process along—"

He hadn't noticed how tense she'd been until she leaned against him in relief. "For starters," Atton added, "you might want to take off your shirt. To check for injuries, and all that—" Her shirt had gotten torn in two places as he had pulled her, rather haphazardly, out the speeder, and it was giving him quite the view as it was, but hey, a guy could dream, right? "Need any help? I mean, what with your leg being busted—"

"So you're not leaving?"

"Nah." Atton grinned down at her. "I figure you owe me. I mean, you pretty much ruined my night. First you send Mical over to steal my date, and then I wind up in a _gunfight_—"

Carra perked up. "Mical stole your date?"

"Oh, come on, do we _have_ to talk about this? It's kind of embarrassing, and I'd rather see you naked—"

"I'd ask Mical, but it won't be as funny if he tells it," Carra said, smiling now; it was probably true, the man had the sense of humor of a Jedi, "and besides, I'd feel bad laughing at him. Come on, Atton."

Atton groaned. "Well, if you _desperately_ want to know—"

"_Yes_."

So he told her.

And she never did get around to taking her shirt off, but Atton, somehow, wound up feeling more lighthearted than he had in days.

* * *

A/N: One more week of exams to go, and then I'm freeee! Until finals, that is. But I know you don't care about my life! How will this affect my writing?

Not very much, actually. The next update is nearly done, and it's got quite a bit of shameless fluff in it. Something to look forward to, huh?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I ended up getting an 88 on my econ midterm but hopefully it'll be curved. Dear **Chasing Liquor**: thanks for saying I don't write like a hormonal teen. It's an especially gratifying compliment since I am one. ;) I thought this entire site was infested by teenage girls?


	12. A Cup of Cyanide

Atton went to the cabin the next morning to find Mical already there, seated at the table, hunched over a steaming cup of tea, and looking very much the worse for wear.

"Atton Rand," Mical said blearily, looking up from his tea. "I cannot believe you left me with that—that _woman_ last night."

Atton grinned. "Yeah? What happened?"

Mical hesitated. "I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "Things went hazy after she convinced me to take a sip of her drink."

Images of Mical dancing on a tabletop flashed through Atton's mind. He snorted with laughter. "What was it? I don't think a few sips would be enough to knock you out—"

"Tarisian ale," Bao-Dur said, emerging from the direction of the garage. He eyed Atton with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Did you know, I found him singing a very dirty song to the entire bar at one in the morning?"

Atton cracked up. "I didn't even know you _knew_ any dirty songs," he said to Mical, who was turning red. "What possessed you to try the Tarisian ale?"

"I wasn't quite certain what it was," said Mical, stiffly.

Oh, man, the poor kid probably had a headache.

"And Carra has promised to train me to be a Jedi," Mical added, looking thoroughly morose. "What will she think of me now?"

Atton's grin vanished. Poor kid, indeed. "She's what?"

"Promised to—"

"Why the hell would she do that?"

"Maybe she sees potential in him," Bao-Dur said mildly. Atton glared at the tech, who was innocently inspecting his ever-present remote.

"I'm going out," Atton grumbled.

"Have fun," Bao-Dur said. He was looking far too amused for Atton's peace of mind. "I'm sure some of us will."

Atton scowled, whirled on his heel, and left.

--

Carra, at least, was true to her word—she was a bloody _Jedi_, of course she had to be—and took Mical with her when she went out to stir up trouble with the Exchange; this did not entirely mollify Atton, as Mical regarded blasters with the same wary expression that he now regarded Tarisian ale, but at least the man was decent enough with a vibroblade and the streets of Nar Shadda were narrow enough the blasters wouldn't be too much of a help anyway.

And they did seem to be spending a lot of time alone together in the cargo hold, but hey, it wasn't like Atton was _jealous_ or anything.

For his part, Atton went out drinking and discovered that nearly every bounty hunter on the moon was out for Carra's head.

He'd looked up a few of his old contacts; two of them were dead, another incarcerated, but Erin was still around, and she gave him the run-down on the major groups; there were four of them, all of them deadly, all of them locked in the Nar Shadda truce—but the way Carra was going about it, the truce was nearing its straining point.

He just hoped that when it broke it wouldn't kill them all.

Atton contemplated taking out some of the bounty hunters on his own, but ultimately decided against it; the Red Eclipse outnumbered him, the Wookie was far too dangerous to take out alone, and of course he wasn't going to go up against more of those crazy assassin droids—the Twin Suns might have been an option, but they were the most high-profile of the lot, doubling as dancers in one of the cantinas, and if he'd killed them someone would be bound to notice their disappearance and start asking questions. For her part, Carra seemed completely oblivious.

She'd spent the entire week running around the Refugee Sector finding lost _orphans_, for frack's sake. They were _orphans_. Who was even looking for them?

But apparently whatever she'd been doing was working—maybe those orphans were really chatty, or _something_—because word was slowly spreading through Nar Shadda that there was a woman with a violet lightsaber who would protect you from the Exchange thugs, or find your lost lover, or heal your broken leg.

_For free_.

At least she was teaching Mical some very important Jedi concepts, like compassion, and giving away all your credits to beggars, and rushing headfirst into fights even if you were hopelessly outnumbered.

Jedi. How had the order managed to survive so long?

--

"I have good news," Carra announced one morning, in that cheerful voice that meant Atton was going to hate whatever she was about to say. "The Exchange wants to meet with me."

She had called a meeting of all her crew members; Atton, who had been examining his blasters, looked up and scowled. "How is this good news?" he demanded.

"It gets us one step closer to finding the Jedi Master," Kreia said.

"Yeah, like I said, how is this good news?"

Next to him, Atton heard Bao-Dur stifle a snort; Mical, on the other side of the room, was looking uncertainly between him and the old Jedi. Carra sighed. "I'm going to the meeting," she said. "They're holding it in the Jekk'Jekk Tarr, and they want me to go alone—"

The Jekk'Jekk Tarr was poisonous to humans.

She knew that, right?

Because there was no way she was planning on walking into a poisonous atmosphere to meet with people who wanted her dead. Alone. Not even Carra was that crazy.

Atton watched in growing disbelief as she proceeded to outline her plan—which was, in essence, to do exactly that. "Wait a minute," he snapped, putting away his blasters. "You're actually going to go through with this thing?"

"Well, Visquis did say it was the only place he would meet with me," Carra said.

"Good thing this isn't a trap," Atton said sardonically.

Mical blinked. "No, Atton, I think it may be a trap."

Three weeks with this guy, and Atton still wasn't sure if Mical understood sarcasm or not. "You can't be serious," Atton complained. "You're just going to waltz in there? I thought you promised you wouldn't do stupid things like this anymore—"

"I was not aware that you had extracted from her such a promise," Kreia said softly, and the room fell silent. But the old witch wasn't looking at _him_, she was looking at Carra. "When did this happen, I wonder?"

Atton scowled. She was making it sound like they'd had an _affair_ or something—all he'd done was bind up her leg, not _seduce _her—you know, despite raging desires to the _contrary_—

"A few days ago," Carra said. "Why?"

Kreia was frowning. "I did not realize you took advice from the fool."

Carra shrugged. "He was right," she said. "I shouldn't have been reckless. But this is important, I don't see any other way of getting to the Exchange."

"The bounty hunters," Atton said, "are going to be out for your head. You know Visquis is only asking you to meet him there so he can collect on that bounty, right? Or did you think he just wanted to catch up over a cup of, oh, I don't know, _cyanide_?"

"I was not aware cyanide came in liquid form at room temperature," Mical said, sounding puzzled.

"I think Atton was being sarcastic," Bao-Dur said. His remote beeped in agreement, and the tech smiled; "It's one of his favorite hobbies, after all."

"Right behind getting drunk and not being listened to," Atton grumbled.

"So," Carra said cheerfully, as though no one else had spoken. "I'll be going now. If I don't come back, you'd better run for it."

And then she left. It was only then that Atton realized she'd placed herself strategically close to the door. He looked around the room. No one seemed inclined to stop her. "That's it?" he demanded, incredulous. "You're just going to let her go?"

"I'm sure Carra knows what she is doing," Mical said, although he did look worried.

"She's a very determined woman," Bao-Dur said. He hesitated. "I trust her judgment," he said at last. "It won us the Mandalorian wars."

Right. She'd been a General in that. Had she gone charging off madly in the wars, too? It was a wonder she was still alive. Or that any Republic soldiers were. "I'm going after her," Atton said abruptly, getting to his feet.

No one tried to stop him, either.

Carra was only halfway down the street when he caught up to her, her loose hair blowing out behind her in the breeze, her lightsaber swinging at her hip. "Don't say it," she sighed, as Atton fell into step next to her. "I know it's stupid. It's just—something I have to do, all right?"

"More cryptic Jedi feelings?" Atton asked.

She nodded. Atton looked away from her and frowned.

"Let me walk you there," he said at last. "If this goes badly, do I get an 'I told you so?'"

That elicited a wry smile. "Oh, this will go badly all right."

"So I get an preemptive 'I told you so?'" Someone was following them. Atton titled his head, sideways, and sneaked a glance behind him; it wasn't Bao-Dur, or Kreia, or T3, and Mical didn't have the skills for subterfuge, so—

"If you want," Carra was saying. Atton slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side street; she glanced up at him in confusion. "Atton?"

"Shh." They rounded another corner, quickly. Puzzled, but obliging, Carra sped up her pace and allowed herself to be pulled closer. Another two blocks confirmed his suspicions. "We're being tailed," he muttered in her ear. "Bounty hunters, I think. The truce is off." Damn. Of all the times—

Well, if he were a bounty hunter, this would probably be the best time. What with Visquis after her and all. "You still going to go through with this?"

"Yes, I have to—"

Why did he even bother asking? Atton rolled his eyes. "Play along," he murmured, and dropped his lips to the side of her head; she smelled like spring and flowers and the wind that blew across the plains of Dantooine, and that was very definitely a female twi'lek rounding the corner back there—two vibroblades, a suspicious lump that was probably an illegal blaster, and the bulky shape of shields strapped to her forearms under her clothes—

Frack. The Twin Suns. Where was the other one?

Carra leaned against him, and her weight was warm and reassuring against his hip. "Stop looking around like that," Atton said quietly. "They'll know we've spotted them for sure."

"There's more than one?"

"Yeah, disasters never come alone, have you noticed that?"

That elicited another smile; her shoulders were tense beneath his arm but Carra was doing a decent job at not looking behind her. Common beginner's mistake; Atton had passed that course with flying colors, of course—under the Republic's training program, ironically enough.

There was that other one—in a speeder, a block away. Atton tugged Carra into the corner of a building's doorway. "Do you see a grayish twi'lek?" he murmured.

She glanced over his shoulder. "Yes."

"That's one of them," he said, and bent his head over hers. She got the hint and twined her fingers in his hair; Atton wrapped his arms around her waist and made sure the twi'leks got a very good view of his back. "Hey," he said teasingly. "This isn't so bad, right? You get to spend some time with your dashing pilot—"

"My dashing pilot," Carra remarked, "is trying to feel me up."

All right, so maybe his hands were a _little_ low on her waist. Atton grinned and pulled her closer. "Tell me you don't like it," he murmured against her ear.

"Atton," she said, and her voice was a little breathless, "is this really the time to be flirting?"

But she didn't move away, and he could feel the flutter of her breath against his cheek; "You think it isn't?" he asked.

"People are trying to _kill_ us."

That was her fault. He sighed. "Nah, just you," he said, pulling away. "Is she still there?"

Carra craned her neck around his shoulder. "She just walked past us," she said. "She's at the end of the block."

Three minutes, max, for her to turn the corner and double back. "We're going to go down a few alleys," Atton said. "And then you're going to run for it, all right?"

She nodded. "All right."

"Let's go."

The speeder couldn't follow them into the narrow pathway that Atton took, and he picked one with enough of a crowd in front of it that the one on foot couldn't catch them easily; they hurried through it, then another, and Atton turned them into a wider street and pointed Carra in the direction of the Jekk'Jekk Tarr. "They'll be back any minute," he said tersely. "Get going. I'll lead them somewhere else."

Carra hesitated. "Will you be all right?"

"_Yes_," Atton snapped. "_Go_."

He watched her disappear around the corner. At the other end of the street, the speeder appeared; the one who'd been tracking him on foot was probably in the alleyway behind him. Atton started walking. There was a cantina half a block away. He needed a drink and a good place to take them down.

The owner was going to be furious, though.

* * *

A/N: Ok...I know I promised fluff. And there isn't much. But there is some, which is something, right? Sorry guys. :( I actually wrote something completely different, but it didn't make sense to put it in, so I didn't, but I'll try to work it in later on.


	13. Hunters

A/N: Election day special! Or rather, election weekend, since I had extra time to work on it! Enjoy, guys. The rest of Nar Shadda is almost done, and then it's on to the next place--anyone who can guess where that will be wins a prize.

* * *

The _Hawk_ was smoking slightly when he came into sight of it, never a good sign on a spaceship; Atton broke into a run as he turned the corner and nearly tripped over a corpse. He'd been gone for, what, two hours? What had they managed to do to his ship?

"Atton!"

Bao-Dur was hailing him from the _Hawk_'s ramp; Atton jogged up it, blasters at the ready. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded. "Why are there dead aliens everywhere? How's the _Hawk_?"

"A bit bashed, nothing I can't fix," Bao-Dur said. "We got attacked by slavers. They were looking for Carra."

Atton cursed. "The Red Eclipse," he said, striding into the main cabin. "I ran into these two twi'leks on the way back, and drove them off, but there are plenty of—_what the hell are you doing to my ship?_"

T3 beeped at him reproachfully.

"I don't _care_ if it's Carra's ship, I'm the one who's going to have to fly this damn thing, and if your dismantling the starboard sensor array—"

"He's just fixing it," Bao-Dur interjected hastily. "It got shot during the fighting."

Atton groaned. "The slavers managed to _board_?"

"Well, there were about twenty of them."

"Great," Atton said. "Just great. How may of them managed to get on board?"

"Do not fear," Kreia said acidly, emerging from behind them; "they are all dead now. _You_ may help dispose of the bodies."

"Listen, you old scow, I had to run here after fighting off two of the craziest twi'lek hunters I've ever met—"

But Kreia wasn't listening; she had turned right around and stalked out, the edge of her robes swishing against the floor. Atton growled in frustration and kicked the nearby wall.

"Careful there," Bao-Dur said. "The _Hawk_'s got enough holes in her as it is."

His ship was getting beat up, bounty hunters were after the lot of them, and Kreia was handing out orders left and right. "I hate my life," Atton muttered. It was probably too much to hope for that Mical suffered any sort of debilitating injury; the man was pretty good with a vibroblade.

"It's not so bad," Bao-Dur said. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

--

Mical wasn't hurt; in fact, he insisted on pacing up and down the length of the main cabin while they waited for Carra to come back. Atton could hear him from the cockpit (now cleaned of blood stains and blaster marks) and it made him want to punch the man's face in.

"Can you stop?" Atton shouted over his shoulder.

The pacing paused. Then the footsteps resumed again, in his direction, and the cockpit door slid open. "I apologize if I was bothering you," Mical said stiffly. "I'm sure you understand that I am merely worried."

"Carra's fine," Atton snapped, swiveling around in his chair. "She can take care of herself."

"I should hope so. She is a Jedi."

Being a Jedi had nothing to do with it. "Then stop _pacing_, dammit."

But instead of going away and leaving him alone, Mical lingered at the door. "You went after her," Mical said. "Do you think she'll be all right?"

Atton rolled his eyes. "For the last time, _yes_." She'd better be.

"She's a very capable woman," Mical said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"Yeah, yeah." Why was this guy still talking to him?

"I admire her a great deal," Mical said, plowing along, seemingly heedless of Atton's annoyance. "She's very—brave. And beautiful."

"What's your point?" Atton ground out.

Mical looked at him in startled surprise. "Oh," he said. "I just thought you would have noticed—"

"Yeah," Atton snapped. "I _did_. I noticed _first, _all right?"

"I—er—"

"I'm going for a walk," Atton said shortly, getting to his feet. "Comm me if anything happens."

He stormed past a bewildered-looking Mical and out the ship. The sun was setting; the evening air was chill and damp against his skin. Atton resisted the urge to kick something. The only large object in sight was the _Hawk_, and as Bao-Dur had pointed out, it probably had enough holes in it already.

He'd noticed how _brave_ she was. If that wasn't a line of nonsense straight from a romance novel, Atton didn't know what was. He scowled viciously at the wall. Carra wasn't _beautiful_, for frack's sake. Not that he cared if Mical had _noticed_ or not.

But he'd seen her _first_, dammit. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Not that he cared if Carra went for Mical. It wasn't like _Atton_ had a shot with a Jedi, anyway. Or like he cared.

He needed a drink. That shot of juma had been hours ago, and it'd been interrupted by two crazy twi'leks with some very painful swords.

"Hey!"

A bounty hunter.

Atton whirled around, blasters drawn, dropping into a defensive stance; the woman approaching from the end of the street held up her hands and stopped walking. "Atton, right?" she said. "Carra mentioned you."

Two blasters, a shield, and a modified grenade launcher; flame red hair; bare midriff. Looked like a joygirl, moved like she knew how to fight. Atton narrowed his eyes at her. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "Where's Carra?"

"Mira," she said. "I came here to warn you. Your Jedi's been kidnapped."

--

She'd known it was going to go badly, and she'd gone anyway.

Atton scowled down at the controls as he fired up the _Hawk_'s engines; there was a worrying rattling as she took off, but Bao-Dur had assured him the ship was space worthy. In the co-pilot's chair, Mira was working on cloaking their signatures. She'd turned out to have some piloting experience.

Good thing he wasn't going to be the only one doing anything useful on this trip.

Kreia had helpfully assured them Carra wasn't dead, which had made Atton wonder what, exactly, was Carra's relationship to the old witch; perhaps Kreia had taken Carra on as her padawan, but Carra seemed pretty thoroughly trained to him.

More likely it was some cryptic Force thing no one would bother explaining to him. "All engines at full power," he said grimly. "Nothing's overheating, but something's loose in the starboard engine. Can you get Bao-Dur to go look at it?"

"Sure," Mira said, "if you want every law enforcement ship on our tails in the next ten minutes. You knew the _Hawk_ used to be a smuggler's ship, right?"

Frack. He'd forgotten; she was a small, sleek, lovely thing, and sure, there were plenty of hidden compartments, but the _Hawk_ was build more along the lines of a courier than anything else. "Dammit, where's that droid when you need it?" Atton muttered.

"I don't think she's in any immediate danger," Mira offered. "The Exchange boss seemed to want to talk to her more than anything else—"

"Visquis lured her into the Jekk'Jekk Tarr," Atton snapped. "Doesn't seem like he's interested in talking."

"Not Visquis," Mira said. "Goto."

Goto. Frack. The ultimate Exchange boss. Carra was in it deeper than he'd suspected; what _was_ it with Jedi, anyway, and getting involved neck-deep in bantha crap? Assassins were after her, the Jedi were after her, the Exchange was after her—hell, even Admiral Onasi of the Republic was keeping tabs on her.

So he'd hacked into Mical's personal communications. So what?

He cast Mira another glance. At least twenty minutes before they reached orbit; another half hour after that to reach the coordinates Mira had punched in. "Tell me something," Atton said. "How'd you wind up in this mess?"

Mira shrugged. "I ran into her outside the Jekk'Jekk Tarr," she said. "She wanted to meet a Jedi Master, so I introduced them; then Visquis tried to kill me, your Jedi came after me, and she got kidnapped."

That sounded like Carra, all right, but Atton couldn't shake the feeling that this—bounty hunter—was hiding something.

But hey, they were all hiding things, weren't they? Some secrets were just deadlier than others.

"I hope someone's looking at that starboard engine," Mira remarked. Atton cursed. He'd nearly forgotten.

"I'll go check it out," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm putting the ship on autopilot—yell if anything comes up."

"Sure," Mira said, not looking up from the console. "Did you know this ship's wanted on fifteen systems? How did you get so far without being stopped?"

"Blind luck," Atton said wryly, and left to check out the engines.

--

Goto's yacht was a huge, ostentatious thing.

Had some pretty nasty tractor beams on it, too. Atton was pretty sure this wasn't just a pleasure vessel—the scorch marks on its sides were a dead giveaway, for one. Mical, for some reason, insisted on coming along on the boarding party.

Well, Atton was pretty sure what the reason was, actually.

Bao-Dur and T3 stayed behind to fix the _Hawk_; the ship constantly seemed to be in need of repairs, it was a wonder it still _functioned_. Everyone else boarded the yacht. The thing was surprisingly empty. They had received no transmissions; it was as though the yacht was programmed to automatically snag anything that came within range. Stupid policy, Atton thought; what if they had decided to start shooting?

But hey, they were on board now, and there weren't any guards in sight, so who was he to complain?

"Right," Atton said, "I think we should split up." He eyed the rest of the group. He couldn't stand Kreia, of course, and Mical was utterly out of the question—Mira might not be so bad, but he didn't know anything about her—

"I will take the bounty hunter," Kreia announced. She looked at Mical. "You. Go with the fool."

"Hey!"

"Come," she said imperiously to Mira, and headed off down the hallway.

"Is she always like that?" Mira wanted to know.

"Pretty much, yeah," Atton said, glaring after her.

"Great," Mira muttered, and followed.

Atton looked at Mical. "Maybe we should split up, too," he said.

"I do not think that would be wise, Atton." The man had taken out his vibroblade. "Shall we be off?"

--

Mical, to Atton's unending disgust, fought like a Jedi.

Which meant running headfirst into a swarm of enemies. Even if those enemies were gun turrets.

Even if those gun turrets could have been taken offline by some judicious slicing on a console less than _ten feet away_.

It was a wonder the man was still alive; Atton burst into the room to find Mical standing over the remains of a droid, looking rather puzzled. "Atton," he said. "Did you turn them off?"

Atton scowled. "No, I sat around and waited until they gave up. Of _course_ I turned them off, you idiot."

"Oh," Mical said, blinking. "Well, thank you. They were beginning to become rather troublesome."

Yeah, five military grade gun turrets could be _troublesome_, all right. Atton rolled his eyes. "Let's just go," he grumbled. If Carra's precious student didn't make it out of this yacht it wouldn't be _Atton's_ fault. He was doing his best considering the man was nigh-suicidal.

They went out into the hallway beyond.

Mical nearly stepped onto a mine. Atton jerked him back, annoyed. "You couldn't gotten _both_ of us killed that time," he growled. "At least stay _behind_ me." He bent to disarm the thing. Behind him, Mical shifted nervously.

"Perhaps you should hurry," he suggested. "I think someone has followed us—"

Great, just great. Atton scowled and stood up. "I'll leave this in place for them, then," he said grimly. "Stay behind me and don't _step_ on anything."

They made their careful way down the corridor, and into a wide, high-ceilinged hallway that _had_ to lead to Goto's audience room—why else would it be so bloody ostentatious? Predictably, the door at the end was locked and magnetically sealed.

Nothing was ever easy, was it?

"I'm going to try to find some way to open that," he told Mical. "Stay here."

There was a console at the end of the hallway, and Atton frowned down at it, wondering why the hell an Exchange boss would be paranoid enough to turn on the gun turrets and put the ship in lockdown, but not send out any of his guards. There had been mines. There had been locked door after locked door. There had even, at one point, been toxic gas vented into a hallway.

But no guards.

Weird.

He stuck a computer spike into the console. It beeped at him. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, tapping out a few commands. "Shut up and open the door, already—"

Down the side corridor that they had come from, there was the sound of a mine exploding.

"_Frack_." The console beeped again. "Come, on, come one, hurry _up_—"

Another explosion—whatever was coming certainly wasn't subtle about it—the console beeped again, there was the unmistakable sound of locks disengaging, and three malevolent, if slightly scorched-looking, metal figures burst out of the doorway and leveled their rifles at him—

He barely rolled out of the way in time. Frack, where did those things keep _coming _from? Was there a special _factory_ out there to make assassin droids? Who was even buying the damn things?

"Mical!" Atton shouted, drawing his blasters. "A little help here!"

But Mical had already disappeared through the doors—probably the moment they opened, Atton thought bitterly. There was nothing to do but run for it. At least he had a shield on him—

He turned on the shield just in time for a blaster to be absorbed on it; _frack_ those things were fast. Atton rolled to his feet and ran back down the ostentatious hallway. "_Mical!_" he shouted again. Dammit, where was that stupid Jedi recklessness to take the hits for him when he needed it?

Something rolled past his feet.

A grenade. Not even the best shields could withstand a blast like that—

He tried to dodge out of the way, but the explosion caught him anyway and sent him flying into a wall.

It probably would've hurt quite a bit if he hadn't promptly lost consciousness.

--

_Do you think he's all right?_

_Mical, you're one with medic training, not me—_

_But you're a Jedi!_

Atton cracked his eyes open in time to see Carra give Mical an incredulous look. "Jedi are _not_ trained medics," she said.

"That's explains why I feel like I've been chewed up by a rancor," Atton said, and tried to sit up. His head hurt. In fact, his whole body hurt.

Both their gazes snapped to him. "Atton!" Mical said, looking worried and guilty. "I'm sorry. I should not have left like that—"

"Shut up and give me a painkiller."

Carra put her hand against his forehead. That music again, a faint chord in the distance, and the pain receded. "Sorry," she said. "I'm not very good at that, yet. Er—should you be moving? I read something about traumatic head injuries—"

"He looks all right," Mical said, peering at Atton far too closely for his comfort. "How do you feel?"

"Like utter crap," Atton snapped. The droids, at least, were a smoking pile of metal a little further down. Ugh. So Mical got to rush in and play the part of the chivalrous prince and _he_ had been stuck out here looking like an idiot.

Not that Atton _cared_, or anything.

"We shouldn't stay here," Carra said. "Can you walk?" She glanced at Mical. "Can he walk?"

Mical shrugged helplessly. "I only had a year of training before I left," he said. "I have no idea."

"I can walk," Atton ground out, and got unsteadily to his feet to prove it. Everything seemed to be in working order. Except the fuzziness. He frowned. It felt like he'd had one too many drinks. Sure, probably better than bleeding or dead—

He'd thought the Jedi could heal anything? Carra seemed to have done a pretty good job of it so far.

"Atton?"

He looked at her. Her forehead was creased with worry, and there was a strange shimmer over her shoulder and an even stranger nausea that accompanied it.

"Sith assassins," he said, and yanked her out of the way of a sudden blaze of red light.

A/N: To **Batsu Simisu-Chan** re your question about Atton's past--yes, she did go to the refugee sector a while ago, but why it's not geting brought up is a bit of a minor plot point (which you don't find out in this chapter, sorry!). But I'm so glad you noticed! :)

Also, if worst comes to worst I'll include the fluff I wrote in one of these post chapter author's notes (as a thank you to those who read them, I suppose), but I'll try to work it into the story proper first. Again, thanks to everyone for reviewing.


	14. Charity

A/N: I spoil you guys, I really do. I have a whole bunch of people on my author/story alert and none of them ever update. :: grumbles ::

* * *

"How did you know they were there?" Carra asked afterward, and Atton wished he'd kept his mouth shut when he was pulling her to safety.

"Stealth fields make a sort of hum, if you know what to listen for," he told her. Which was perfectly true. "Can we get a move on? This place is giving me the creeps—"

"Indeed," Mical said, glancing around nervously. "There are far too many droids here for my liking—"

"As opposed to assassins and bounty hunters?" Atton muttered under his breath.

Carra nudged him with her elbow, but she looked amused. "Let's get going," she said. "We need to shut down the generators for the yacht, or else the tractor beam will never let us leave."

--

It was—finally—their last night on Nar Shadda. Carra wanted to go to Onderon next—though why a Jedi Master would be there, Atton had no idea. It was a boring place. The whole planet was made of law-abiding citizens. Didn't seem like there would be much need for anyone to come along and sort things out.

But hey, he was just the pilot.

At least the bounty hunters were off their tail, now that Carra had practically destroyed Goto's yacht. Atton grinned at the memory. The Exchange was not pleased with them. Fortunately, it was also sufficiently wary of them to leave them alone.

Just the way he liked it.

They would have left earlier if Carra hadn't insisted on everyone getting some sleep and having the ship properly fixed up; Mira, it seemed, was coming along with them. For the moment she was still staying in her room in the Nar Shadda slums. Atton wondered where Carra would find the room for another bunk. She hadn't even looked or anything—

Probably not his problem, though. He was the pilot. The _Hawk_ was getting a last-minute tune-up from Bao-Dur and T3, and Atton wasn't really needed, so he went out drinking instead.

But things never went according to plan.

"Looking for company?"

Atton glanced up. It was Carra, leaning against his table and looking rather out of place amongst the scruffy, battle-scarred patrons and flinty-eyed waitresses of the cantina; he wasn't surprised to note that she didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Not particularly," Atton drawled, "but seeing as it's _you_—"

She smiled and slid in next to him. "You're hiding again," she remarked.

"Yeah, well, everyone on the _Hawk_ hates me, so I thought I might as well come here and get drunk."

"Nobody hates you," Carra said. She waved away the waitress, who had come to take her order—that's right, Jedi didn't drink, did they? "Well, except for Kreia. But she hates everything."

Atton cast her a glance. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be training with Mical or something?"

She laughed. "I've found a Jedi Master and this is my last night on Nar Shadda. Can't I come out for a drink?"

"Carra," Atton said. "You don't drink."

"True," she admitted. "I suppose I really came here to find you."

Atton frowned. Something was wrong. "Something up?"

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "If there were, wouldn't I have told you already?"

She bit her lip. "It's just—I ran into this man down in the refugee sector two weeks ago, and he seemed to know you—"

Frack.

"And?" She was blocking his way to the door; dammit, why did he have to pick a corner booth? Too close for blasters, not enough room to maneuver—

"He said you were dangerous," Carra said.

Of course he was dangerous. Did she think all he did was drink and crack jokes?

"—that you aren't who you pretend to be. And I—well, _I_ couldn't even tell the Sith assassins were there, but somehow you could. I was just wondering—"

Atton clenched his jaw. "Maybe I don't _want_ you to know more about me, ever think of that?" he snapped. Too close for lightsabers, too, at least. "You think you're the only one with a past?"

"It has to do with Dantooine, doesn't it?" Carra asked, and she tilted her head up to look at him; he could flip her onto the floor and knock her unconscious, at that angle—

"Maybe," Atton said, and downed the rest of his drink.

Carra sighed. "You could tell me," she said.

Rage and misery welled up in his throat; he slammed down his glass, and snarled, "No, I fracking couldn't, Carra, because you wouldn't understand—"

"Why not?"

"It's complicated," Atton ground out. Why was she here? But no, that was a bloody stupid question to be asking—she was a _Jedi_, and they went where they pleased and poked their noses where they didn't belong and hey, if it got her killed who was he to care—

"You're Force sensitive," Carra said.

The glass shattered in his hand.

--

He shouldn't have been surprised that she knew. It had to happen sooner or later, didn't it? And Carra was tugging on his arm and there was a faint curve of music in the distance and Atton looked down, a little surprised, at the blood on the table, because he couldn't see where it had come from—

There was that echoing pain again, beating against the hollowness in his chest; his voice was steady, but the room had grown, suddenly, very cold. "Yeah?" he said. "How do you figure that?"

He wondered if he could kill her.

Her fingers closed around his. "Stop," she said. "Don't—don't _do_ that, Atton."

"Do what?"

"Do you know why Revan made me General?" Carra asked softly. "I was always the most sensitive to the Force—she was the leader, and Malak was her warrior, and I—I was the conduit. I knew which battles we had to win and which ones we could afford to lose, and Revan would make sure we won when we had to, because I couldn't, I was too—too attuned. To everything. Don't pretend you don't care; you're miserable and I can feel it and it _hurts_."

Well, Atton thought savagely, at least he wasn't the only one. He looked down at her and saw the lightsaber across her lap, glittering and deadly against the curve of her hip; perhaps Kreia had been right, and he couldn't run forever. The Jedi believed in the Force, didn't they? And cycles.

He didn't want to hurt her.

Because he couldn't kill her, not again.

"Atton?"

She wanted to know, didn't she? Maybe it was time.

"There was a girl," Atton said, at last. "It didn't work out."

That was all there was to it, really. Everything else was just—detail.

"Show me," Carra said, her presence a whisper of cool silk against his mind; and Atton closed his eyes and let her in.

He had forgotten how much blood there had been.

He'd killed Jedi, a lot of them—on assassinations, or in the torture chamber—and perhaps Carra had even known some of them—but hey, she'd wanted to see, hadn't she? He heard her sharp intake of breath as she rifled through her memories. Jedi were only human, after all—they bled, and they screamed, and they broke if you know how to twist them—

_How could you?_ Carra was asking, her hands tight around his. _How could you do that, and not—and not—_

"You were Revan's general," Atton said hoarsely. "How did you even live with yourself after Malachor? Is that why you went back to the Jedi Council? Hoping they'd kill you? Wasn't it? Maybe you thought they'd forgive you—sure, you might have thought they'd execute you. But Jedi don't kill, do they? At least not their prisoners."

_Well, I'm not a Jedi. You got off easy, didn't you? You were exiled, brushed under the cargo ramp, another dirty little Jedi secret—_

_You hate us_, Carra said, and she sounded sad. _Why?_

_Because Jedi lie. And they manipulate. And every act of charity or kindness they do, you can drag it out squirming into the light and see it for what it is._

She made a sound of protest. "The Jedi are guardians of the peace," she said, and Atton snorted and shook his head.

"The Jedi—the Sith—you don't get it, do you? To the galaxy, they're the same thing; just men and women with too much power, squabbling over religion, while the rest of us burn."

_I'm not sorry_, he told her, and even to himself he sounded bitter. _You think they didn't deserve to die? The galaxy doesn't need Jedi arrogance or Jedi hypocrisy anymore._

They stepped through his memories, gingerly, as though avoiding the blood; a Jedi Knight screamed and broke, and Atton remembered the sharp stab of satisfaction he had felt at making the man face his hypocrisy.

_Why did you leave?_ Carra asked. _If they're all the same to you, and they all deserved to die—why did you leave?_

There had been a girl, and she had loved him, and he had killed her.

"I didn't know I was Force-sensitive," Atton said; it hurt, to remember, but Carra had wanted to see, and soon it wouldn't matter anyway, would it? "She showed me—I would have died if anyone had found out."

_But I didn't die. You know why? Because she wasted her life to save me—_

Her eyes had been dark, and they had turned darker as she died, and he hadn't realized he'd loved her until weeks later on a dingy street corner on Nar Shadda; he'd never had much experience with that particular emotion, but still, by then it was too late to tell her anything and perhaps that was what he regretted the most—

"Atton," Carra said, and her presence was suddenly gone from his mind; inexplicably, his arms were around her, and she was burying her face against his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't know you were so sentimental," he murmured into her hair. His heart was pounding, furiously, but his hands were steady. A useful talent for hunting Jedi. "Are you going to kill me, or what?"

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "An execution?"

He didn't know anymore.

"I would miss you," Carra added, and Atton opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Don't waste your sympathy on me," he advised, with a sardonic twist of his lips. "You just found out what happened to—_her_."

"I'm _sentimental_," she said. "I can't help it."

And Atton laughed, despite himself.

They were in close quarters; she had a lightsaber. It could be through his head before he even noticed. Of course, he thought critically, eyeing the length of his narrow table, Carra's was double-bladed; the other end might very well go through the Zabrak's head one booth over. Maybe if she turned it—

But then he would definitely see it coming, at _that_ angle, and Atton didn't think he could go down without a fight. The instinct had been in him for too long.

_She_ had been the only thing he'd been sorry for, in his dark, tangled web of a life—

"I'm going back to the _Hawk_," Carra said, pulling away from him. "I need to—think about this."

It didn't seem like there was anything to think about.

But Atton shrugged and disentangled himself, and Carra stood. "I just—" she said, and stopped. And then, "Doesn't it hurt?"

He laughed, bitterly. "Yeah," he said. "But only when I think about it."

Carra nodded.

And Atton watched as she walked past the thugs and bounty hunters and out the door, and it was only after the cantina doors had slid shut behind her that he realized she was letting him go.

Frack. Just like that.

What did she think she was doing?

Atton slammed a handful of credits down on the table and stalked out the cantina after her.

Nights were cold and bleak on Nar Shadda. He shoved his hands into his pockets and jogged to catch up with her; Carra was only halfway down the street. "Don't be an idiot, Carra," he said, low and dangerous, as she turned to give him a startled glance.

"I'm not," she said.

He grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop, right there on the street; a passing woman caught sight of them and decided to go another way. "I didn't fight Jedi," he hissed. "I _killed_ them. Or I tortured them and made them fall—and you're just going to let me walk away?"

"What will an execution do for them?" Carra asked. "They're dead. Or fallen; either way they wouldn't care—"

He shook her, and said, savagely, "I _told_ you not to waste your sympathy on me. Do you think I deserve it? Well, I don't—I don't want your sympathy, and I don't want any more fracking sacrifices—"

"You love me," Carra said, wonderingly.

Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't, but he didn't know and it certainly didn't matter. Atton snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

She shrugged. "All right, then," she said. "I love you. What is that worth?"

He stared. His hand dropped to his side; "What?"

"Do you know what it means to be Force sensitive?" she asked. "You've never tried it, have you? You always shut yourself off from it, because it hurts to listen, doesn't it? You killed someone you cared for and it made a wound—you wonder why Jedi don't kill their prisoners? Because they care, for _everything_, and it would hurt too much—"

"You were at Malachor," Atton said. "You killed a _planet_—"

That shadow, again, dark and endless, and Carra looked at him and said, lightly, "Well, I'd really be an idiot if I added to that, wouldn't I?"

And, all of a sudden, he understood.

It did not make the hollowness go away.

"That's why you didn't ask me earlier," he said. "You're just—letting me go."

The shadow receded. She sighed. "I wasn't lying when I said I would miss you, you know. Jedi—aren't supposed to lie." She shrugged again, and turned, and started walking—and there was nothing for it but to follow her. "Perhaps I'm being selfish," she told him. "But I do not want your death on my hands, and I do not want you dead."

_If she is Jedi, she will forgive—_

"I thought you would hate me." He thought she would at least _try_.

"I don't _know_, Atton," she said, and now she sounded tired. "I _told_ you I had to think about it."

"Mira's a pilot, too," Carra added, and Atton found himself wondering if he really could do it—just pack up and leave, and no one would care, probably; he was on Nar Shadda, after all, and for a price he could buy a new name and a new identity and go on with his life—

"You had it all planned out, didn't you?" he demanded. "You don't ask until you're sure you don't need me anymore—"

"Because Jedi lie," she quoted at him. "And Jedi manipulate, and every act of charity or kindness they do—"

No, that wasn't right, that wasn't _her_—and all the fury went out of him, and Atton Rand found himself standing on a dark, deserted street corner on a cold night on Nar Shadda listening to a girl tell him what a fool he was—

—and there was blood on his hands; he had never told her he was sorry, either, though Atton liked to think, sometimes, that somehow she'd known—

—but maybe it was time he told her, because she deserved at least that much, and he _was_ a fool, and frack, he'd _loved_ her, hadn't he, and he'd never told her that, either—

Only this time she wasn't a ghost; he'd forgotten.

So when he reached out for her again she stopped and turned and looked at him, his hand on her shoulder, her eyes shadowed and weary, and instead of the billion and one things that could have come out of his mouth Atton found himself saying "Let me come with you."


	15. Firefight

A/N:** Alpha Cucumber**, I've been updating regularly every week for the past few months so you should have some faith in me—and anyway, I love this thing too much to stop writing it. :) Don't take my grumbling too seriously.

* * *

"Coordinates for Onderon are locked," Mira said from the co-pilot's seat.

"Good," Atton said absently, glancing over the flickering readouts on the console. "We'll jump to hyperspace as soon as we're out of orbit—"

She cast him a glance. "Rough night?"

"Huh?"

"You look like you had one too many drinks."

Or one too many dark secrets spilled. Atton grimaced. "Yeah," he said. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Or not enough."

"Just don't crash the ship," Mira warned, and he couldn't help but laugh.

Knowing Carra, they would probably get shot down over Onderon, too. "We're out of Nar Shadda space," he said, turning back to the flight controls. "Prepare to jump."

--

Atton wasn't surprised when Carra cornered him the cockpit afterward; he'd been trying to avoid her but of course he couldn't keep it up on a ship as small as the _Hawk_. "Something up?" he inquired, not looking at her as he flipped a +3 pazaak card idly between his fingers.

Carra slid into the co-pilot's chair; Mira had wandered off to get lunch. "Do you have a moment?"

"Nope. Busy flying the ship."

"Oh," she said. "I see."

The card went flipping up, down, and up again; Carra, when he finally glanced at her, was watching him thoughtfully. Atton scowled. Was she just going to pretend nothing was wrong?

"Well, if you have a moment," she said at last, "Mical and I were going to go meditate in the cargo hold. I was hoping you might join us."

"A threesome, huh?" Atton glanced at her. "Nah, Mical's not really my type."

"All right," she said, and got to her feet. "Come by if you change your mind."

And then she left.

She _was_ going to pretend nothing was wrong, wasn't she? Well, far be it for him to break her out of it. He'd given up that line of business long ago.

--

But he should've remembered what Jedi were like—they were bloody _stubborn_, that's what they were, and they weren't subtle about it, either. It took them two days in hyperspace to get into the Onderon system and Atton found himself spending a lot of his free time in the garage, where T3 would at least leave him alone.

Atton also spent quite a few hours practicing his "Get away from me or I'll snap your head off" scowl, which he used every time someone looked as though they were even _thinking_ of asking him when he'd become Force sensitive. For frack's sake, he'd spent the better part of the last few years covering it up, and now he was stuck on a ship where apparently _everyone_ knew. Were his eyes turning yellow? Had he started levitating in his sleep? Was he spouting cryptic nonsense?

The last time he'd checked, no meant no, not _why don't you ask me tomorrow and see if I'm in a better mood then?_

At least, that's what those public safety warnings kept telling him.

And his eyes weren't turning yellow, either. They'd been a perfectly charming gray when he'd checked them in the mirror that morning, and, hey, when was the last time anyone had called a Sith Lord charming? Though Atton was pretty sure he could manage it if he tried—not that he wanted to, mind—

"Atton?"

He jumped and dropped the hydrospanner. "Frack, Carra," he said, as the thing went rolling away behind a support strut. "Do you _want_ the hyperdrive to break?" Atton bent over and tried to see it. It was bloody _dark_ under there.

"Sorry," she said, her footsteps approaching. Atton ignored them. "I was just—"

"No."

"Hmm?"

"No," Atton snapped. He reached out, banged his elbow against the wall, and winced. "I don't want to meditate with you. I'm busy."

Her voice, coming from behind him, sounded amused. "I see," she said.

"Yeah, well, if you could stop staring long enough to help me find this damned hydrospanner—"

Something went flying out from a tangle of wires and disappeared out of sight on the other side of the hyperdrive core; "I've got it," Carra said. Atton tried to stand up and banged his head on a strut for his trouble. He cursed. Carefully this time, he retreated from the tangle of wires and metal, and stood, to find Carra looking as amused as she'd sounded.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said hastily, handing him the hydrospanner. "I actually came here to tell you that we're dropping out of hyperspace in a few minutes. Do you want Mira to take the landing, or—"

"I'll do it." Atton didn't trust anyone else with his ship. Well, Carra's ship. Whatever. "I'll be right up."

Carra hesitated.

Atton raised his eyebrows. "You want me to fly your ship, or you want me to stand here and let you look at me some more?"

"We might run into a bit of trouble in the landing," Carra said quickly.

He groaned. "What'd you do on Onderon?"

"I'm not sure. I just have a feeling—"

See, that was just the sort of cryptic phrases Atton _didn't_ say. "I'm sure they'll tell us," Atton said grimly, tossing the hydrospanner onto a nearby table and heading toward the cockpit. He didn't know if Mira had any combat training and he didn't particularly want to find out the hard way. "Is there _one_ planet we can go where no one hates us?"

Carra actually seemed to be thinking about this. Atton rolled his eyes. It'd been a rhetorical question; he'd bet his life that there wasn't. Well, not a populated planet, anyway.

"Dropping out of hyperspace in two minutes," Mira said, swiveling around to face him just as the cockpit door slid open. "Are we expecting trouble?"

"With this bunch?" Atton snorted. "Always."

"I'm still here!" Carra protested. She'd followed him up from the garage, probably to learn who was trying to kill her this time. Atton wholeheartedly approved. It was much easier to run away from enemies once you knew who they were.

"One minute," Atton warned, sliding into his chair. "I hope you were wrong about the trouble."

She wasn't wrong about the trouble.

The moment the blue of hyperspace faded away, there was an incoming message on their comm system from a very irritated-sounding General Vaklu, demanding to know what they were doing in Onderon space and why the hell they were getting freighter signatures from a ship that was clearly a courier, now that they had a visual. Atton raised his eyebrows. _Good job,_ he mouthed at Mira.

She smirked at him and turned back toward Carra. "You want to talk to him?" Mira asked.

Carra sighed. "We'd better."

Mira shrugged and flipped on the comm. Carra leaned in. "_Hawk_ to Onderon command," she said. "This is Jedi Knight Carraliss of the Dantooine Enclave. The _Hawk _is my vessel. Requesting permission to land—"

"Permission denied," came General Vaklu's voice. "What is your business here?"

"Our business here is to request a meeting the Queen Talia to discuss her support for the reopening of the Enclave."

There was silence from the other end. Atton glanced at Carra; she was frowning. Suddenly she drew in a sharp, startled breath.

"Atton," she said. "Get ready—"

The comm cracked to life. "General Vaklu to the _Ebon Hawk_. You and your crew are under arrest. Proceed to the coordinates below and prepare to be boarded—"

Carra reached out and flipped off the comm. "Atton," she said grimly. "Can you land this thing if they start shooting?"

Vaklu had a whole _fleet_ in orbit above Onderon. "Not in one piece." He was good, but no one was _that_ good. "What in space did you _do_ to them? Who's this Vaklu?" He was already putting on speed; the shields were operational but he didn't think they could take more than a couple of hits from a destroyer. "Mira, ready the guns in case they send any fighters after us, and—"

_Frack. _They'd started shooting. Atton cursed and pulled the _Hawk_ into a tight spiral. "Guns, _guns_," he snapped at Mira. "Is anyone manning them?"

"T3's on it," she snapped back, fingers flying over the console. "Why is this ship such a wreck? These things are taking forever to charge—"

More shots. Atton cursed again, dodged, felt the _Hawk_ take a glancing blow toward the tail. Why _was_ this ship such a wreck? Their shields were already at half power, why hadn't Bao-Dur fixed the damned thing? "Fighters are coming at us," Mira warned. "Can we outrun them?"

"Shields are running low," Atton said grimly. "I'm going to try to land on that moon there. Frack, Carra, remind me never to go anywhere with you again—"

Fighters. Damn. Five of them, too; no way the _Hawk_ could gun down all of them though they might have a fair change of getting away if none of the engines died. Another shot, from one of the fighters this time, and a direct hit—the shields were down. At least the guns were online and T3 was shooting back, if the sudden shuddering from the lower deck was any indication. "Hold onto something," Atton warned Carra. "This isn't going to be pretty."

She grabbed the back of his chair as the _Hawk_ went careening to the side; there was a nasty sounding crash from somewhere on the ship. Atton hoped nothing had gotten broken. Most of the stuff was strapped down, but no one else had been expecting any trouble and it would be unfortunate if, say, Kreia fell onto the hyperdrive.

For the hyperdrive. Atton didn't really care about Kreia. The old scow could probably take more hits than their delicate engines could.

The moon was on their approach vector just ahead; they were already in its gravitational field. Another few minutes and they could probably lose the fighters in—what was it? Atton frowned down at the displays. Dxun was a humid, forest-type environment. Damn. Landing amongst trees was always tough—

The ship shuddered.

Atton cursed. "Entering Dxun atmosphere," he warned. "And we lost a stabilizer." Landing amongst trees just got a lot tougher. He really hoped everything was strapped in.

And that Kreia wasn't anywhere _near_ the hyperdrive.

T3 had shot out a fighter and another one had flown into the exploding debris, but the other three were still tight on their tail; Atton angled the Hawk down as steeply as he dared and let Dxun's gravity take over. "You sure that's safe?" Mira demanded.

"You want to get shot to pieces?" Atton wanted to know. "I know what I'm doing—oh, _frack_—"

He jerked the _Hawk_ out of the way of flaming debris as another fighter got shot down, and was rewarded for his efforts by a frantic beeping on the console informing him that the _Hawk_ was currently on a collision course with—well, the ground. Atton jerked the _Hawk_ to the side. The beeping didn't stop. "We're going to _crash_," Mira snapped.

"We're _not_ going to crash." Too badly, Atton amended. He could make out patches of green and blue on the moon below. Damn, but they looked awfully close—

And that stabilizer would really come in handy right about now—

Frack—

Atton pulled the _Hawk_ up but it wasn't slowing down as much as he would've liked; there were still two fighters following them but they were taking a second seat to gravity. "Pull up!" Mira was shouting over the frenzied beeping of the sensors. "You're going at it too fast!"

"We've lost a stabilizer!" he shouted back. "I can't slow this damn thing down—"

They hit the top of a tree. Atton heard branches scratch along the hull; something broke off.

"_Frack_—"

He yanked the ship to the side to avoid another tree. Black smoke was billowing out on the window in front; that was never a good sign, Atton thought distractedly. Trees. More trees. Why the bloody hell had they decided to take a pleasure jaunt on a moon with _so many bloody trees?_

Right—because there was a fleet up there that hadn't been too happy about seeing them—

Mira let out a long string of curses that would've impressed Atton if he hadn't been trying so hard to not get them all killed. The _Hawk_ was getting dangerously close to the ground; Atton aimed for the clearest patch of land he could see and tried to pull the ship to a stop.

They hit the ground with a jarring slump. Their other stabilizer snapped off.

The _Hawk_ went skidding across the forest floor, leaving what would probably be a very impressive trench of smoking debris if Atton could see it, and Atton got the emergency stabilizer online in time to bring the ship to a screeching halt three feet away from the trunk of an enormous tree.

There was silence. Even the sensors had stopped beeping.

"I cannot believe," Mira said at last, "that we're still alive. That was the _worst_ landing I've ever seen."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Reviews are awesome and much appreciated, and have the power to cheer me up instantly even if my day has sucked. :)

A note to everyone who is reading this, which is apparently more than two people (a nice surprise): if you have some free time and really love my writing, and would like to see more of it, I'm working on an original fic I would really love some feedback on. It's promising to be long-ish, but I'm going to assume that's not a problem if you've already gotten this far on _this_ fic. Anyway, message me or leave a review if you're interested.


	16. Dxun Jungle

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry for the lack of update last week; finals and stuff are coming up, so, you know, real life stuff is getting in the way. But I hope this makes up for it! And I hope it makes sense, I did write most of this while slightly fuzzy with a head cold.

* * *

The Dxun jungle was hot and humid, and the _Hawk_'s temperature controls weren't working, possibly because they had been destroyed in their crash-landing. Atton wasn't sure, though. Lots of things had been destroyed in the crash-landing; the temperature controls might merely have gone offline when, say, a piece of the stabilizer took out a swatch of circuitry on the hull of the ship.

Kreia had given him a black look and stalked off to the other side of the _Hawk_, although the effect had been kinda ruined by the fact that he hadn't seen it; Atton had been cursing at the temperature controls at the time. Mira assured him, however, that Kreia hadn't looked happy.

At all.

Which was fine by him, really. As long she kept her mouth shut. Atton yanked at a large boulder that was blocking his path to the starboard stabilizer (or what was left of the starboard stabilizer, at any rate), and glared at it when it refused to budge. He wondered what Kreia would think of the conversation at the cantina. It would be undignified for a Jedi to have a fit.

"You're going to need a detonator for that," Mira said, coming up behind him. Atton shot her a glance. She'd taken off her jacket in the head, and Atton hadn't even thought it possible, but somehow she'd managed to roll her shirt up even higher; her hair was starting to go limp from the humidity. Atton grinned and stepped away from the rock.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don't blow up the ship, though."

She'd already bent over to fiddle with the firepower she carried everywhere on her belt; "I won't," Mira said distractedly. "Bao-Dur would kill me. Go away, will you? It'll take some time to set up."

It was _his_ ship, Atton thought indignantly. Or at least, he was the one who flew it.

Although it did seem that Bao-Dur was the one who had to keep patching it back up. Maybe she had a point there. Atton shrugged to himself and wandered off.

He'd taken off his jacket, too—it'd been tossed over the seat of the pilot's chair in the cockpit—and Atton was seriously considering braving Mical's company for the backup climate control in the medbay, when Bao-Dur rounded the corner of the _Hawk_ and said, "Atton, the General's looking for you."

Atton groaned. "Did she say why?"

The tech was looking as though he was trying very hard not to smile. "No," he said. "But Mical was with her."

Mical. What did she even see in him? He was as stiff as a constipated politician. "Where is she?"

"By the tree we nearly crashed into."

"Look, you should be glad we haven't been smashed into a million smithereens—"

"Hey, hey, I wasn't saying it's your fault." Bao-Dur held up his hands placatingly, the blue glow of his mechanical arm strange and eerie against the green forest. "I'm glad we're not dead."

Atton let out a short, sharp breath. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

--

He should've gone to the medbay, since he knew for a fact now that Mical wasn't there, but instead Atton found himself heading to the front of the _Hawk_ where Carra was waiting. She was leaning against the tree, inspecting her lightsaber; in a concession to the heat, she was wearing a thin, short-sleeved shirt that clung to her—

"_Atton Rand!_" Mical hissed in his ear.

Atton jumped and turned, scowling, from his contemplation of a fairly attractive woman wearing—well, not very much—to a red-faced, furious-looking Mical. It was much less pleasant. "What?" Atton demanded.

"Stop—stop _looking_ at her like—"

"Like what?" Carra inquired, slipping her lightsaber back onto her belt. Mical went, if possible, even redder. Atton raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, Mical," he said. "Like what?"

"Like _that_," Mical said, glaring.

Oh, for frack's sake, it wasn't as though he hadn't caught the other man staring at her—

"So," Carra said brightly, probably trying to head off the brewing argument in the air, "I'm going exploring. Feel free to come along."

Atton looked incredulously out at the jungle. "In _that_?" he demanded. "There are—vines, and trees, and I can't see a _thing_—"

"I'll go," Mical said, and Atton scowled.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I suppose you'll need _someone_ to save your neck after you Jedi try something stupid—"

"Jedi are not _stupid_—"

"You know," Carra said ruefully, "on second thought, I think I'll be fine by myself."

--

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Atton grumbled, pushing a few trailing vines away from his face.

"You know," Carra said from somewhere ahead of him, "the Jedi have a method where—"

Atton groaned. "Spare me."

He could feel Mical glowering at his back. Ignoring it, he pushed forward through the thick underbrush, stepped quite ruthlessly on a fern, and burst out into a clear patch of land that turned out to be a path. Carra stepped out of his way, almost absently; she was gazing around thoughtfully. "I think someone might have followed us," she said.

"Who?" Atton asked, as Mical came crashing through as well; "Mira? The droid?"

"No, no one we know—"

Great. More bounty hunters? He'd thought the Exchange would've given up by now. Atton rolled his eyes. "How do you know?" he demanded.

She gave him a sideways glance, and the corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. "The ways of the Force are mysterious," she said. "Perhaps I'll teach you sometime. You know, when you aren't busy flying the ship."

Jedi. They just didn't know when to give up, did they? They pushed, and they pushed, and they just expected everyone to step back and fall in line—

"I can think of some better lessons we could be having when I'm not flying the ship," Atton drawled.

Mical pressed his lips together and glared at a nearby vine as though it had personally offended him; Carra merely sighed. What, had she expected him to just let her order his life? He'd held onto his freedom for too long to let some Jedi just come in and take it away—

"This way," Carra said, as though she knew where they were going.

But clearly they didn't, because they'd only gone down the path for five minutes before Carra slipped, made a small, startled sound, and disappeared into a pit. Atton, who had been busy watching the trees for any sign of movement, noticed this too late, and he had enough time for a furious curse before his boot slipped and he went plummeting after her.

Frack. Who the hell put pit traps in the middle of nowhere?

"Carra? Atton?" Mical's panicked face appeared over the edge of the pit. "Are you all right?"

Atton spat out the dirt in his mouth and sat up, furious with himself. Carra had landed quite solidly on the back of his legs; she scrambled off as she felt him move. "Fine," she called up. "There aren't any spikes or anything—"

"We are _not_ fine," Atton snapped. "We're in a damned _pit_."

"Can you climb out?"

Atton glanced around. The pit was at least twenty feet deep (unless Mical's head had suddenly shrunk in the past ten seconds), and fairly steep. "You have any Jedi tricks up your sleeve?" he asked Carra.

She shook her head. "You'd better go back to the _Hawk_," she called to Mical. "There's a grapple around somewhere, there has to be—it's a smuggler's ship."

"Yes, certainly—" His face disappeared, then appeared again. Atton stifled a groan. "Er—Carra—are you certain you'll be all right—"

"Perfectly," she said, seemingly oblivious of Mical's surreptitious glances in Atton's direction, which would've been quite funny if they hadn't been stuck in a fracking _pit_. "After all, Atton's here, isn't he?"

Mical left, looking torn.

Atton glanced at Carra. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

She was trying not to laugh. "Did what?"

"You—you were _baiting_ him—"

"Mical," she said, "shouldn't worry so much."

"I'll have you know I'm a very dangerous man," Atton said indignantly.

The smile faded from her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I suppose you are."

Atton cursed silently to himself. Why the hell did he even bother? Why hadn't he left, back there on Nar Shadda, when he had the chance? Ghosts and Jedi women and the Force—frack, he'd promised himself he would get mixed up in that sort of thing again, but here he was, trapped in a pit with a Jedi who hated him—

"Atton," Carra said. "I don't hate you."

He met her eyes, startled. "Stay out of my head," he snarled, and slammed up the wall of anger and hate and fury with practiced ease.

She grimaced and put a hand to her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have, but—it just—it was so strong. Please stop, Atton, that hurts—"

And leave himself open again? "You'd prefer something else then?" he demanded, savagely, and thought instead of the shape of her body beneath her thin shirt and how she would feel if he pinned her against the dirt wall and—

She slapped him.

Atton put his hand to his cheek, where it stung, and stared at her; Carra had gone white.

Jedi. They didn't do that sort of thing, did they?

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

"I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, you did," Atton said, turning away from her. "It's all right."

"No, it isn't," Carra said. "I shouldn't have."

"Do you know how many Jedi I've killed?" Atton asked, and smiled a grim, humorless smile when Carra shook her head. "Well, I don't either. But it was a lot. I probably deserve worse than a slap. All right?"

She looked up at him. There was a streak of dirt on her cheek. "I thought you said you weren't sorry."

Atton shrugged, tired of it all. Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn't, but it hardly mattered, anyway. He leaned against the wall of the pit and slumped down until he was sitting on the floor; there was probably dirt all over the back of the shirt, but hey, it'd been ruined as it was. He'd clean it once they got back on the _Hawk_. "Sit down," he told her. "Mical's probably gotten lost."

Carra set herself down gingerly next to him. "I had a dream once," she told him.

Atton half-smiled. Cryptic Jedi wisdom again. "Yeah?"

"There was a battle," Carra said. "And soldiers were dying, my soldiers—but I sent them out, anyway, because we had to win. And reports came back. And they—they begged me to pull back, because the losses were too heavy, because we couldn't possibly win—but I ignored them. Because we had to win."

"Did you?"

"Yes." She titled her head and looked at him, her green eyes shadowed. "I could feel them dying but I sent them out anyway—and I woke up and it wasn't a dream."

"A battle," Atton said, realization dawning. "Which one?"

Carra gestured. "Dxun."

No wonder she seemed to know where to go. "Oh," Atton said.

"It was what Revan was like, I think," Carra said. "Cold and harsh and lonely—but all the time. But she was good at pretending, even to herself." And now she looked sad. "You were like that, too," she added. "When you were thinking about—me."

Atton raised his eyebrows. "Uh," he said. "Was that just a really weird way of telling me to stop fantasizing about you? Because, you know, you could've just come out and _said_ it—"

Not that the bit about Revan hadn't been interesting.

"No," Carra said. "I was just wondering if you were like that all the time."

He stared at her.

She was absolutely serious, wasn't she?

"Jedi," Atton said. "You just can't leave things well enough alone, can you?" She was looking at him, puzzled, strands of tangled brown hair falling across her face, and Atton brushed them away and smiled a wry little smile and kissed her.

"_Atton_—"

Well, what had she expected? She'd been asking awkward questions. He pulled away and looked down at her; now Carra looked thoroughly bewildered. "Yeah?"

Her eyes searched his. "I—we—"

And, with perfect timing, the Mandalorians found them.


	17. Mandalorians

A/N: A present for my lovely, lovely readers, since updates are going to be really screwy for the next few weeks what with finals coming up.

* * *

"We were ten minutes away from the _Hawk_," Atton hissed furiously at Mical. "How could you possibly have gotten lost? _Fifteen_, at the most!"

"It was a _forest_," Mical snapped back, looking ill-tempered and rather grimy from his long trek through the jungle. "How can you even _tell_ where you are?"

"Shut up, both of you!" an armor-clad Mandalorian barked back at them. Atton glowered. The expression was lost on the man's back. Up front, Carra was conversing in a low voice with what appeared to be the squad's leader; the other four members had surrounded them in a protective formation. As though _she_ were more dangerous than him and Mical combined—well, maybe given her lightsaber, she was—

Not that he was looking for trouble, or anything.

But the Mandalorians hadn't taken their weapons, or anything, so maybe they weren't looking for trouble, either. And they _had_ hoisted them out of their pit—and it seemed like Carra knew them. Granted, she'd probably fought them all those years ago, but the Mandalorians had a strange sense of honor.

Their camp was half an hour's walk away. Atton and Mical spent some time not speaking to each other in a guarded holding cell while Carra went off to meet with the Mandalorians' leader; Atton couldn't hear any screams or shooting, which probably meant the meeting was going well.

"I'm bored," he announced to Mical, their two Mandalorian guards, and a passing speeder. "Anyone up for a round of pazaak?"

Mical looked at him as though he'd gone crazy, but one of the guards shrugged, and said, in a surprisingly feminine voice, "Count me in."

Underneath his helmet, the other guard looked as though he were rolling his eyes. "You don't have the credits, Mei."

The first guard pulled off her helmet to reveal a surprisingly young, unscarred face; "Mind if we don't play for credits?" she asked.

Atton was already pulling his deck out from his back pocket. "Yeah, no problem. Republic Senate rules?"

"You _travel_ with that thing?" Mical asked, sounding scandalized.

"Yeah, it comes in handy." Atton glanced over at the guard, who was pulling out her own pack, and grinned at her. "Especially," he added, "if you've got some time and there's someone you'd like to get to know better—"

"Stow it," the woman said, not unkindly. She gave him an assessing once-over. "You're not my type, blaster-boy. I prefer blonds."

Ah, the famed directness of Mandalorian women. Not like some cryptic, obfuscating Jedi he could name—

"Damn," Atton drawled. "You don't know what you're missing out on." He shuffled his cards, one-handed, and jerked his head at Mical. "I assure you, sweetheart, I can show you a better time than blondie over there—"

"I'm sure he could make a decent attempt if he put his mind to it," the woman said, and Mical went red.

The other guard sounded exasperated. "Mei, is it absolutely necessary to flirt with the prisoners?"

"Yes," she said. Then, to Atton, "You deal."

They sat down across from each other on the cell floor. The other guard sighed, pulled off his helmet, too, and said, "Can we make this three-way?"

"Sure," Atton said. He glanced at Mical. "You want to join?"

Mical looked conflicted. "I—I don't—"

"Come on, blondie," Mei said, looking amused. "You can borrow my spare side-deck. I don't bite."

"My name," Mical said, with faint outrage, "is Mical."

But he sat down anyway, as Atton had suspected he would; Mei was attractive in an aggressive, deadly way, with her dark hair and dark eyes and suggestive smile. She passed him her spare side-deck. Mical looked down at it as though it were covered with venom. Atton rolled his eyes.

They played three games, and he watched as Mei put her moves on Mical and the other man looked exasperated; by the time a guard came around to announce that they were to be released, Mical had been reduced to stammering. It would've been funnier if Atton hadn't felt slightly annoyed about being passed over. Come on, he was a fairly attractive guy, there was _nothing_ Mical had on him—

Maybe it was the dirt. Mical hadn't spent the better part of an hour stuck in a pit, after all.

Scowling, Atton collected his cards and followed Mical out into the jungle clearing where the Mandalorian camp was. Carra was waiting just outside the holding cell, swinging her lightsaber idly in one hand. "Hello," she said, looking up rather anxiously. "Are you all right? Did they keep you in there the entire time?"

"We played several satisfying games of pazaak," Atton drawled.

Carra glanced at him, then at Mical, who was turning red again, and at their two guards, who still had their helmets off. "Oh," she said.

Mei flashed a quicksilver grin at Mical. "You didn't tell me you were taken, blondie."

"What? I'm not—I mean—that is—"

"Not taken, then?" Another grin. "Anything else stopping you from having dinner with me tonight?"

It was an incongruous offer, given that they were in the middle of a fracking jungle, but the meaning was the same anyway; the other guard groaned and covered his face with his hand, Mical turned redder if that was even possible, and Carra looked amused. "I—er—I'm certain Carra needs my assistance," Mical stammered out.

"No, she doesn't," Atton said, now thoroughly enjoying the little drama. "You'd only get in the way if you tried to fix anything on the ship."

"I would _not_!"

"Mandalore suggested we help out around the camp," Carra said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Maybe you two can go hunt cannoks together."

"Romantic," Mei remarked. "What do you say, blondie?"

"I—er—cannoks?"

"Excellent," Mei said, and slung her arm through his. "See you later, Zeke, Atton." She nodded at Carra. "Jedi," she acknowledged.

And then they were off, with Mical quite possibly too flabbergasted to protest.

--

"You know," Atton said, "for a moment I thought you were going to spoil their fun."

Carra, ahead of him on the narrow jungle path, turned around to stare at him. "What are you talking about?

Atton grinned. "Mical. That girl. I think he's scared of her, you know—I mean, what if she takes advantage of him—"

Carra stopped so suddenly that he ran into her, the back of her shoulders brushing against his chest, and for a moment Atton remembered, quite vividly, how soft her lips had been when he'd kissed her—

She whirled around and shoved him hard enough that Atton went stumbling backward into the greenness of the jungle. There was the sudden bright flare of violet light and it arched up to meet a curve of glowing red—

And then there was another woman standing there, dressed in the black and red of a Sith assassin, and Atton was furious with himself for not having detected her sooner.

A lightsaber—he couldn't tell which—cut through the branch of a nearby tree. Atton only barely managed to dodge out of the way. He pulled out his blasters.

"Atton!" Carra shouted. "Hold your fire!"

Was she _mad_?

He scowled and sighted, anyway, backing away as the duel ranged across the forest floor; damn, but they were moving too fast for him to get a clear shot, red and violet blurring against the green. Atton cursed, backing away again as the fight moved toward him—

But then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The red disappeared, the Sith stumbled and fell, and then there was Carra, breathing heavily, her violet lightsaber burning through a fern as she swung it back in one high arc—and stopped.

"What are you waiting for?" Atton demanded, jogging over. "Finish her, and then we can go—"

"No," Carra said sharply. The violet light retracted; she looked up at him, green eyes fierce. "Jedi do not kill their prisoners."

"Carra, there might be others—"

"There aren't any. She came alone." Carra was already bending down, her hand on the assassin's body, pulling away the heavy layers of cloth that were quickly becoming soaked through with blood; music, glorious golden music, ebbed and swelled in an elated dance—

"She tried to _kill you_—"

But Carra wasn't listening. She had closed her eyes and was lost, somewhere, inside the music; Atton scowled again and aimed his blaster resolutely at the assassin's head. If she so much as _twitched_ she'd find a blaster bolt between her eyes.

"Atton," Carra said wearily. "Please put that down. She's quite thoroughly unconscious."

"Well, we can't just leave her here!"

"You're right," Carra said. "We can't. We're taking her back to the _Hawk_."

Atton's jaw dropped. After a moment, he managed a sputtered, "_What?_"

"Can you carry her? I don't think I could—"

"You're crazy," Atton announced flatly. "I knew it. You are officially insane."

Carra sighed. "Fine," she said. "I'll just comm Bao-Dur and have him send out T3 with a carrying harness. I'm not leaving her, Atton. And I'm not killing her, either."

"Carra—"

But she had sat down, and was fishing for her commlink. Atton groaned.

"All right, all right," he said wearily. "I'll carry her."

--

The _Hawk_ was habitable again by nightfall, and most of her systems were up and running. Atton sat in the cockpit, ostensibly to monitor the readings, but really it was to listen for the sound of anything coming from the medbay.

The assassin was in the medbay. The Miraluka—he hadn't thought there'd been any left. Hadn't their planet been destroyed? And weren't they supposed to be peaceful creatures, anyway, not ones that ran around with a lightsaber and tried to kill Jedi? Atton scowled down at the console, which was currently informing him that it was snowing outside. Bao-Dur hadn't fixed all the scanners yet.

The door slid open.

Before he knew it, Atton was on his feet, blasters out and primed for firing and aimed at the doorway. Carra looked startled. "Sorry," she said. "It's only me."

"Frack," Atton said, furiously, sheathing his blasters. "Don't scare me like that—I could've shot you. What are you doing here?"

Carra stepped into the room, the door sliding closed behind her. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I'm the _pilot_," Atton snapped.

"We're not going anywhere," she pointed out, which was perfectly true. "Atton, she really won't hurt anyone—"

"Yeah, you say that now, but the next thing we know she'll be on a rampage through the ship—"

"I took her lightsaber," Carra said, holding it up.

Atton scowled. A lightsaber wasn't the only thing that made her dangerous—she was probably Force sensitive, all the Miraluka were—and she could choke them in their sleep. What the hell had Carra been thinking? "If I wind up dead," Atton said, with deep bitterness, "I'm going to come back and haunt you, just to say 'I told you so.'"

Carra sighed. "Go to bed, Atton."

He folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her. "Not unless you're in it."

"Jedi," she informed him, "are not allowed to have attachments."

What in space was she talking about? "Attachments?" Atton demanded. "You want to talk about attachments? How about your attachment to that fracking Sith assassin we've got sleeping in the medbay, huh? Or your attachment to just about every straggler that comes your way? Frack, Carra, if this is your way of _not forming attachments_ then I'll have to tell you that you're doing a bloody awful job of it—"

"Atton, I couldn't leave her there—"

"I don't see why not," Atton snapped. "You should've let me shoot her—she's just some assassin, and now she'll be trying to kill you the moment she wakes up." He glared at her.

Carra looked as though she were trying not to smile. "Do you feel better now that you've shouted at me?"

Atton let out a long breath. "Yes."

"I promise she won't be any trouble, Atton."

How could she promise that? She didn't know the Miraluka at all.

"And I locked the medbay door," Carra added.

Atton sighed. Bloody stubborn Jedi.

Maybe it would've been dramatic to say that he went to bed with a blaster under his pillow that night, but that was what Atton did most nights, anyway. He lay awake for a long time in the darkness, jumping at small noises, and wondering how Bao-Dur could snore away so contentedly in his bunk when there was an assassin aboard the _Hawk_.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As always, reviews are appreciated and make me write faster even when I should be doing other things, like studying for my stat final because I suck at stat...

_Anyway_. Bet you guys didn't know Mical was such a stud, huh? He didn't, either. :)


	18. Closet Affairs

A/N: I can't believe I'm updating, instead of doing the crap-load of work I have.

* * *

Morning brought with it the cold comfort that no one had died yet. The medbay door was still locked, and the ship computer informed him that the Miraluka was still comatose, so Atton went to grab himself some breakfast before Carra decided to bring on another stray.

Atton ran into Mical in the main cabin, which cheered him up immensely. He was strongly reminded of another morning on Nar Shadda after he'd left Mical in a disreputable cantina with a disreputable twi'lek girl; this time around, however, Mical didn't look hung-over, merely very confused.

Clearly, he hadn't gotten back last night.

"So," Atton said, pulling a ration bar from the food dispenser. "Is it true, what they say, about Mandalorian women?"

Mical flushed. The man was too easy, honestly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly.

"You know," Atton said, biting into his ration bar. It wasn't too bad this morning; this one had a sweet fruity flavor. "_Mandalorian women_. What're they like?"

"She was very kind," Mical said.

Atton grinned. "Kind, huh? Is that what they're calling it these days? Come on, what'd she look like under that armor?"

"Atton Rand!" Mical said, turning even redder. "Do not speak of her in that manner!"

"Oh, come on, you don't think she's comparing notes with her friends right now?" Really, it wasn't fair. Here he was, a charming, attractive, dashing young pilot, and Mical was getting all the girls—

"She wouldn't _compare notes_," Mical sputtered. "That would be _inconceivably_ rude, after we—we—"

Atton offered up a rather vulgar, though descriptive, suggestion, one that caused Mical to flush to the roots of his hair, bury his face in his hands, and groan loudly.

"You don't think she'd call it _making love_, do you?" Atton asked, amused beyond belief, despite the fact that there was _still_ a Sith assassin in the medbay, a point which didn't seem to bother Mical overmuch even though he was currently bunking there. Well, maybe not while they were on Dxun—clearly the man had found somewhere _else_ to bunk last night—

But hey, the medbay door was still locked, and no one was dead, so maybe this wouldn't turn out too badly after all—especially when Carra came by and announced that sleeping arrangements would have to be changed because the Sith assassin was hogging the medbay.

"She doesn't look like she'll be waking up anytime soon," Carra said. "We'll have to find some room somewhere else—"

"How about you share _my _bed, Carra?" Atton smirked at Mical, who looked like he wanted to punch him. "Or maybe we can wait 'till we get off Dxun; _Mical_ seemed to enjoy sleeping _elsewhere_ last night—"

"—I didn't—it wasn't—" Mical sputtered.

"—though maybe he didn't get much _sleeping_ done—"

"You know," Carra said quickly, "we'll be needing Mandalore's help to get off the moon unnoticed. Mical, why don't you go and see him, and see if you can help out around their camp?"

"Certainly, Carra." Mical bowed to her—_bowed_, what the hell was wrong with this kid—and walked out, pointedly ignoring Atton. The door slid shut behind him.

"You're no fun," Atton complained.

"Jedi don't have fun," Carra said cheerfully. "Are you still angry with me? I was thinking we could explore the ship and see if there are any spare rooms, now that the medbay's occupied, but if you feel like you need to shout at me first—"

Atton groaned. "When have you ever listened to me?" he demanded.

"I listen to you all the time," Carra said. "You make very good points."

She really didn't hate him.

He didn't deserve it, did he? Just like he hadn't deserved _her_—but he'd taken her gift and ran. And he'd take this one, too, because if he was anything he was a scoundrel, and scoundrels always knew how to look out for themselves—

"What did you have in mind?" Atton asked, because if there was another thing scoundrels were good at, it was running away, even from themselves.

Hey, he was a hypocrite—he'd admitted it to himself long ago.

"There's a locked storage room just outside the cabin," Carra said, gesturing. "Do you think you could slice it open?"

Atton grinned at her. "Course I can." He finished the last of the ration bar and tossed the wrapper into the trash compacter. "Come on."

"You haven't even _seen_ it," she protested, trailing after him as he headed off to the storage room.

"Course I've seen it," Atton retorted. "It's _my_ ship."

Actually, it was Carra's, but he was the one who flew it, wasn't he? And maybe Bao-Dur knew the technical side of things better than he did, and maybe T3 was the only one who could access those damned navicomputer records, but Atton was the _pilot_. The _Hawk_ talked to him.

Though mostly she complained about being shot at.

The storage room lock hadn't been touched in years, and Atton was pretty sure that the controls wasn't functioning properly, but it was only the work of a moment to convince it to slide open. "Told you," he said to Carra, grinning, and stepped inside. Looking mildly impressed, she followed him.

With a disturbing thump, the door slid shut behind them, and there was the distinctive sound of the lock clicking. The room was plunged into darkness. "Frack," said Atton.

"I can't find a light switch," Carra said, from somewhere to his right.

He couldn't either, when he felt around the nearest section of wall. "Well, well, look at this," Atton drawled, trying not to trip over anything as he searched for a switch. "You, me, a dark closet—"

"It's a lot bigger than a closet," Carra pointed out. Her voice came from a few feet over—where was she, anyway? Atton squinted. There was the sound of footsteps, and then her elbow whacked him in the ribs. "Sorry. Where are you? Where's the door?"

"Right behind me," Atton said, grabbing her arm. "Don't you think it's a bit suspicious that the door locks behind us the moment we get in?"

A teasing note crept into her voice. "Maybe it's fate."

Atton grinned. "Yeah? You think so?"

Carra laughed, moved backward, tripped over something, and stumbled against a wall; Atton managed to catch her before she fell. "Careful," she warned him. "Don't move."

Light blossomed. She had turned on her lightsaber; the violet glow was just enough for him to make out the curve of her smile in the dimness. Considerately enough, she was holding her 'saber as far away from them as she could, which left plenty of room for Atton right next to her.

Well, not _plenty_ of room. He smirked as he edged closer and Carra tilted her head in his direction; the glint of violet was reflected in her eyes. "I've got an idea," Atton said. "You know, with the door locked and all—"

"To pass the time until we're rescued?" Carra was grinning now. "It's a bit dark for your favorite card game, isn't it?"

"Nah," Atton said. "My favorite card game involves two players, a bottle of juma, and a door that locks—and now that I think about it, the cards are really more of an afterthought—"

"Can I ask you something?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead."

"You didn't learn how to slice a lock on Nar Shadda, did you?"

No, of course not; he'd learned it as part of a training course on how to kill Jedi, and Carra knew that perfectly well, so why the hell was she bothering to ask? He stared down at her. She looked completely solemn, all traces of flirtation gone.

"If you wanted me to kiss you again," Atton said wryly, "all you had to do was ask."

Carra blinked. "I—"

But he tipped her chin up and kissed her, slow and languid this time, and Carra froze up beneath him; Atton supposed it was lucky that she didn't run him through with her lightsaber then and there, but the years of training and Jedi sensibilities probably got in the way. Her green eyes had gone wide.

And then, all of a sudden, she tore herself away from him and shrieked.

Atton whirled around. Two glowing yellow eyes were staring at him out of the darkness; without thinking, his hands flew to his blasters, and he drew them out, fired—

There was a frisson of power from Carra, and the door went flying off its hinges. They stumbled out of the room—closet—whatever it was—Atton still shooting wildly, Carra falling back into a defensive stance.

There was a moment of silence as both of them fought to catch their breath.

Mira came slamming into the hallway, her blaster drawn. "What is it?" she demanded, glancing between them. "I heard shooting—"

"A droid," Carra said, straightening up. "It was—a droid."

"_Frack_, what was a _droid_ doing in there?" Atton shoved his blasters back into their holsters and glared. The yellow eyes winked out, then back on again; he could make out a rust-red body and several lethal-looking rifles behind it. "It looks like those damned HK-50's that keep ambushing us."

"It doesn't look functional," Mira said. She'd put away her blaster as well, and now she gave Atton a look. "What were you two doing in there?"

Atton scowled. "Trying to find a new room for Mical," he said. "The door locked behind us."

"Accidentally, right?"

"Atton," Carra called. "Can you get Bao-Dur? I think I can bring this droid back online—"

It would probably try to kill them all. Atton rolled his eyes. Jedi. Now that the shock of seeing an assassin droid was wearing off, he was growing quite bitter about the interrupted kiss. "Of _course_ it was an accident," Atton grumbled to Mira. "She wanted a new room and we _all_ get a reanimated assassin droid—"

--

Carra avoided him assiduously for the next two days, which was a nice change from their usual routine, where it was Atton who pretended to be busy when he saw her approaching. Carra didn't even pretend. She'd glance at him, look deeply conflicted, and dash off to do something or other for Mandalore.

She was starting to remind him of Mical, actually, with that _oh force what do I do now?_ expression. Maybe he'd finally scared her off. Convenient.

Thought it was weird that she hadn't been so skittish after their first kiss; what did she think _that_ was? An accident?

But hey, she was a Jedi, and she was Carra, so Atton wasn't really surprised when she came to him one afternoon and asked him to go hunting with her. There was that stubborn tilt in her chin again. Atton shrugged, put down the hydrospanner—the repairs still weren't finished—and went with her. They were a good ten minutes into the jungle before she spoke.

"I've been thinking," Carra said, stopping abruptly.

"Yeah?" Atton stopped too, and watched her. "And here I thought you've been avoiding me—"

"I've been _thinking_," Carra said firmly. She spun around to face him, looking rather fierce, and Atton stamped down ruthlessly on the urge to smirk at her and say something flirtatious. "I've been thinking that you should answer my questions, instead of kissing me to shut me up."

"Come on," he drawled. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it." Until the droid had started acting up.

And really, he thought he'd made it quite clear he didn't want to answer her questions. Didn't she know enough already?

Carra stared at him. "I don't know," she said.

What, now she was trying to make him feel guilty? "Please don't tell me you had an affair with—with _Vrook_, or something, and he was better than me," Atton groaned.

"Actually," she informed him, "that was my first kiss. First two kisses."

Well, frack. Now he _did_ feel guilty. "Oh," Atton said. But she'd been _flirting_ with him.

He was probably the galaxy's biggest idiot. She was a Jedi, wasn't she? And they weren't supposed to have _those sorts_ of attachments—flirting was probably the farthest she'd gone.

And then, because he couldn't help himself, "But I thought you said you were reckless—"

Carra smiled, a wry, wistful smile, and the green of her eyes were brilliant in the morning sunlight through the jungle. "I was only reckless with things that mattered," she told him. "Like the Force. Revan was the one who was reckless with everything else."

Atton was mildly indignant about being classified with things that didn't matter.

"Why didn't you warn me off the first time, then?"

She looked rather sheepish. "I thought it was an accident."

"What?" Atton demanded, incredulous. "You thought I just accidentally tipped over and fell on your lips?"

Carra covered her face with her hands and groaned. "This is very embarrassing," she informed him through her fingers. "I've suddenly developed a tremendous amount of sympathy for Mical."

Mical was sleeping with an attractive Mandalorian woman. Atton could see nothing to feel sympathetic about. He rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess we're even now," he remarked.

She lowered her hands and looked bewildered. "What?"

"You know my deep dark secret, I know yours—"

"What's my deep dark secret?" Carra wanted to know.

"You're a _virgin_." Atton grinned at her. "I could help you with that, you know. I mean, now that we've found some more space on the ship—"

Carra laughed. "I would've thought having a half-disassembled droid staring at you would be disconcerting. It's still in there, you know."

It _had_ been disconcerting. He couldn't understand her fascination with rescuing things. If it had been up to him, the droid would've been scrap metal by now. Scrap metal in _space_. Aimed toward a sun.

"Well, then," Atton drawled, "we'll just have to give the rest of the crew a show, huh?"

She was still smiling, but there was a carefulness in the tilt of her head as she watched him. "See," Carra said, "now I'm not sure if you're serious, or if you're just flirting again."

He stepped toward her, and she was a Jedi so she didn't step away, but there was that wariness in her eyes again as he reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips; "Why can't I be both?" Atton asked, only half teasing.

Carra opened her mouth, blinked, and closed it again. Now she looked utterly bewildered.

"Well, come on, then," Atton said, dropping his hand and turning away from her. "You said we were here to hunt something, didn't you?"

--

It probably wasn't very sporting to kill the Zakkeg with hidden mines, but hey, it worked, right? And Atton was a scoundrel. He didn't face things head-on—nah, he could leave that to the Jedi. Fair fights weren't his thing.

It was far easier to attack in ways your opponent didn't expect.

* * *

A/N: Atton can be a jerk, huh? I hope you liked the gratuitous semi-fluff.

I have a Force Unleashed fic (Meditations on Natural Philosophy) up on this site, so if any of you guys have played the game and like my writing you should go check it out. Tell me how you like it! I'm experimenting with a new style there.

First person to guess the secondary ship pairing in "Guarded" gets to commission a fic of their choosing.

I still can't believe I managed to update. If there are any errors in here let me know and I'll fix them. It was written quickly. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys are awesome, and you totally made me finish this chapter.


	19. Wariness

A/N: Two chapters, because you guys are awesome and I neglected you for finals. Thanks for all the encouragement and reviews! And for sticking with the story!

* * *

The Miraluka came awake late in the night after nearly everyone else had gone to bed, and Atton only noticed because he was up late checking on the ship—fine, _fine_, he was actually reading Mical's latest memo to Admiral Onasi, but no one had to know _that_—and when the medical computer beeped at him Atton shot to his feet so quickly that he banged his head on the not-overhead-enough overhead display.

"Frack," he muttered, and closed the memo.

The medbay door was still locked. He keyed it open and stepped inside, blaster drawn; the assassin was only just sitting up. She turned her face toward him. In the dim night-cycle lighting, Atton saw the eerie white orbs that were her eyes. She looked puzzled.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice like the sighing of the wind across a vast, empty plain. "Where is your master, the one who brought me here?"

Atton scowled and trained his blaster on her forehead. Technically, _he_ had been the one who'd carried her all the way back to the ship—and she hadn't been light, with all that armor, either—but he supposed she was talking about Carra. "Why do you want to know?" he demanded.

"I must speak with her."

Yeah, they'd heard that one before.

"I mean her no harm," the Miraluka added.

His eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you," Atton said flatly.

She regarded him thoughtfully, which was quite a feat since she didn't exactly have eyes. "You don't trust anyone."

"Damn right," he snapped. "Especially not you."

There was a whisper, a _presence_ against his mind—

Atton slammed up his shields,, and the Miraluka hesitated only a moment before plunging through them—

Stupid, stupid, that tricked worked on Jedi and this wasn't a Jedi, was she? Atton gritted his teeth and fought her, pain pounding through his skull, and she clawed her way past his shields and it _hurt_; but he pushed against her, furious now, and all of a sudden they were locked in a furious struggle inside his head, and someone was shouting—

And then it stopped.

Atton was surprised to find himself still standing, his blaster still in his hands; he straightened up and blinked down at Carra, who was somehow standing before him looking rather upset.

"Don't do that again," she said fiercely, looking between him and the Miraluka. "_Either_ of you. _Ever_."

"I didn't do _anything_—" Atton protested.

"You were going to _shoot _her," Carra said.

"I was _not_—"

"And _you_," Carra said, swinging around to face the Miraluka. "_Don't_ go trampling through people's heads. It's _rude_."

She was going to give the assassin a _lecture_ on politeness? Instead of, say, spacing her? Atton couldn't believe his ears. "Carra," he said. "I think you should let me shoot her."

"_No_," she said. "Atton, go to bed, will you? I need to talk to her."

"I'm not leaving you alone with her—"

Carra didn't even look away from the assassin. She merely tilted her chin and said, "Go. Please."

And Atton, scowling, went.

--

Carra went to Iziz the next day on Mandalore's shuttle, and the Miraluka went with them, and Atton spent the next few hours brooding until Bao-Dur roped him into helping out with repairs to the _Hawk_. Somehow he ended up stuck working on the hyperdrive core with T3, who kept informing him he was holding things wrong.

He couldn't believe Carra had taken the fracking assassin to Iziz, instead of, say, _him_. Sure, there was only so much space in Mandalore's shuttle and _someone _had to keep an eye on the Miraluka, but why couldn't it be _Mical_ or something? Someone had to watch out for _Carra_.

Knowing her, she was probably embroiled in the middle of a civil war or something. Or antagonizing the local authorities. Or, at the _very_ least, handing out credits left and right—

T3 beeped at him. Atton realized he had just wired up a short circuit.

He glared at the droid.

--

"She'll be fine," Mira said.

Atton glanced up from the muddy patch of Dxun jungle he was currently kneeling on. "What?"

"Carra," she said, passing him a piece of scrap metal. "She'll be fine. Stop worrying about her."

Atton bolted the metal to the _Hawk_'s hull with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. "I'm not _worrying_ about her," he ground out.

"Yeah, yeah," Mira said, rolling her eyes. "Are you done with the cutting laser yet? I need to borrow it—"

"Take it," Atton said shortly.

Mira rolled her eyes again, took the laser, and wandered off.

--

It made Atton feel a bit better that Mical was just as worried as he was and ten times more obvious about it.

--

An assassin. A Sith assassin. Carra had picked up some strange people but _frack_, this was just _stupid_. Sure, Atton wasn't exactly overjoyed by Kreia, who was a ruthless witch if he ever met one, but at least _she_ wasn't trying to kill Carra—

Yet, anyway. Frack, he could count all the people he trusted in the galaxy on one hand. The Miraluka had been right.

The one person on the _Hawk_ he trusted the most, with the one person that he trusted the least, stuck on a planet together—

Well, with Mandalore, he supposed, who hadn't tried to kill them yet. That was always a good sign. Why did she have to hunt down this Jedi Master, anyway? They had been _shot down_ on the approach by the planet's highest ranking military officer. Maybe it was just _Carra_ that Vaklu hadn't liked, but Atton had the suspicion that no one really liked Jedi.

It was a tense few days before the shuttle returned, and then after that things were even worse, because then they were off to Dantooine again.

--

"I think," Carra announced, "that you should come spar with us in the cargo hold."

Atton groaned. "I have to watch the ship," he said.

"We're in hyperspace."

He shrugged.

"Come on," she said, nudging him on the shoulder. "It'll be fun."

"_Mical's_ there," Atton complained. "That's, like, the _opposite_ of fun. And that assassin—"

Carra sighed. "Visas."

"—that _assassin_ Visas—"

"She's not an assassin anymore," Carra protested.

Atton groaned again. The fact that Kreia didn't trust the newcomer either didn't make Atton feel any better, although he resisted the childish urge to welcome the Miraluka—Visas, Carra insisted everyone call her, instead of _you_ or _that bloody assassin_—and flirt outrageously with her just to annoy the old witch.

Everyone else, however, somehow wound up agreeing that keeping the assassin—no, no, _Visas_ fracking _Marr_—on as a crew member was the best course of action. Instead of, say, shooting her in the head after a quick interrogation. Everyone else also seemed to agree that letting Mandalore join them was a good idea.

Clearly, everyone had gone insane.

"I'm a blasters sort of guy," Atton said. "I don't really do well with vibroblades."

Or lightsabers, for that matter.

Frack, why were they going to Dantooine? Carra had found Kavar, hadn't she? And it wasn't like there was anything particularly interesting on Dantooine, anyway—

"Oh, leave him alone," Mira said from the doorway. "He's probably afraid he'll get his ass handed to him on a platter."

Atton scowled at her. "I know what you're trying to do," he informed her, "and it's not gonna work."

Mira smirked at him. "What am I trying to do, Rand?"

"Very funny."

Carra looked between them. "Maybe you should spar each other?" she offered.

"Wouldn't be much of a challenge, would it?" Mira said.

"I could take you anytime," Atton snapped. "Maybe I just don't _feel_ like it."

"Fine," Mira said, shrugging. "Suit yourself."

Atton glowered "_Fine_," he said. "I will."

So it completely puzzled him as to why, five minutes later, he found himself in the cargo hold facing off against Mira in unarmed combat. Carra was playing referee; Mandalore and the assassin watched from the corner. Mical, ever the anxious pupil, was hovering at Carra's side.

Years of Echani training paid off as Mira lunged at him; Atton feinted, ducked toward the side, and they circled each other, wary; she was good, but not _that_ good, Atton thought. There was a certain hesitancy to her movements. Mira wasn't a killer.

That surprised him. She was a bounty hunter, wasn't she?

She might even be Force-sensitive. It seemed like everyone on this blasted ship was, in some way or another—except maybe Mandalore, but Atton wasn't even so sure about him—

It was a short fight. Mira wasn't a melee combatant, either; she dealt with mines and grenades. Atton had her on her back within a matter of minutes.

After that, they moved onto blades. Atton didn't stick for that; he didn't exactly feel like making an idiot out of himself by dueling Mical.


	20. Loyalty

They'd been called to Dantooine, apparently, for the purposes of averting a mercenary assault on the settlement, but it seemed the _real _reason they'd come was so Carra could get shouted at by Vrook.

"Why do you listen to him?" Atton wanted to know as they left.

Carra shrugged. "He was my mentor," she said.

"Some mentor," Atton said.

Her smile was wry. "I could've hoped for a better one."

They walked in silence for a few moments, across the length of the ruined Jedi enclave, and Atton looked out across the vast plains of Dantooine and wondered what it would be like to feel the Force as she did. It didn't hurt her, did it?

"There are droids at the settlement that have broken down," Carra said at last. "Do you think you could reactivate them? I'd ask Bao-Dur, but—"

"He's busy with the security system," Atton finished. "Sure." Anything for their glorious leader, he thought wryly.

Carra had tried to get him to help reactivate the assassin droid, too, but in Atton's opinion one assassin on their ship was quite enough, which had led to another argument about Visas that only ended when Mical stopped by for his lesson—

"Thank you," Carra said.

It always startled him a bit, when she thanked him; it wasn't behavior he'd ever have expected from a Jedi.

--

Atton walked in on a nauseating sight.

Carra and the Disciple were sitting in the main room of the Ebon Hawk with identical peaceful expressions on their faces. Atton promptly turned around. But he must have been breathing too loudly, or something, because from behind him Carra said, brightly: "Atton! Would you like to meditate with us?"

He ground his teeth and turned around again. "No. Thanks."

"Some other time, then?"

Over his dead body. "Maybe."

Carra rose to her feet. "Oh, well, we were almost done, anyway." She extended a hand to Mical, who, Atton was disgusted to see, actually _took_ it—as though, you know, getting up by himself was too much of an effort. "I'm going to check up with Administrator Adare," she told them. "She thinks the mercenaries might want to talk."

Mical nodded. Mira, curled up in the corner with a datapad, hardly glanced up. But Carra was looking at Atton, who raised his eyebrows. "Don't let me stop you," he said.

She frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm all right?"

"Yes, but—"

"I thought you wanted to leave," Atton said sardonically. Carra sighed and brushed past him. Mical watched her go with a reverent expression, and Atton couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Ogling her won't help," he told the Disciple. "Believe me, I've tried."

Mical went rigid. "I beg your pardon?"

"Come on, admit it, you were staring at her ass."

The tips of his ears had gone red. "I was not!"

"Oh, stuff it," Atton said. "If you want to sleep with her so badly, just say so."

"She would never do such a thing!" Mical said hotly. "Jedi Carra is a woman of great moral integrity!"

Atton just smirked.

"You—_you_—"

"Boys, boys," Mira said idly from the corner. "Play nice."

Atton laughed. Mical stalked off, fuming; Mira put away the datapad she had been reading and got to her feet. "Ever thought of being nice to him?" she remarked. "He's not so bad once you get past the Jedi rhetoric."

"—not to mention the hair, and the speeches, and the way he _looks_ at her—"

"Yeah, we all know you're jealous," Mira said.

It was Atton's turn to fume. "I'm not _jealous_," he snapped.

"Whatever," Mira said. She patted him on the shoulder. "Break her heart," she said, "and I'll break yours. With a blaster."

"I—_what_—"

But Mira had sauntered off, whistling.

--

The worst part was the waiting.

No, actually, the waiting was the second-worst part. The worst part was Carra's redoubled efforts to try to train him as a Jedi, apparently strengthened by the fact that they were on Dantooine, the home of the Jedi enclave.

"No," Atton snapped, the moment Carra appeared at the doorway of the room he shared with Bao-Dur. "I'm _busy_."

She walked in and regarded him. Atton was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I can see that," Carra remarked. "It's very important to make sure that the ceiling hasn't developed any new cracks since yesterday afternoon."

He scowled. "Don't let me keep you, then. I'm sure _Mical_ is waiting for you."

"Actually," Carra said, "I was going to ask if you wanted to take a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes."

Atton looked at her suspiciously. She was examining the ceiling with great interest, and he could see the long smooth curve of her neck and the way her thin shirt clung to every curve on her torso; perhaps it was what Mira had said, but he wondered, absently, whether someone like her would ever have been interested in someone like him, even before he'd started killing Jedi.

"All right," he said grudgingly, getting up. "Where are we going?"

Carra shrugged. "Wherever."

They headed out of the _Hawk_. In the workroom, he could hear Bao-Dur tinkering with his remote, and Visas was in the cargo hold, going through her lightsaber forms. Huh. Maybe he was actually getting Carra alone, for once.

Unless Mical was coming along. In which case Atton might just have to take a walk in the opposite direction. Perhaps off a high cliff.

They stepped out into the soft grass of the plains, and Atton could hear it again, the faint singing just at the edge of his mind; it did not hurt so much now, but he turned his head away, just in case, and thought of pazaak.

"This way," Carra said, and set off away from the compound, into the wilderness. Atton followed. It seemed like he was always following her, and there was some sort of lesson in that but he couldn't be bothered to sort it out.

They walked in silence until the sounds of the compound had faded and the Ebon Hawk was just a shadow on the horizon, and then Carra said, "Why won't you let me train you?"

"Because," Atton said, "I don't want to be a Jedi."

"Why not?"

Because he wasn't good and he wasn't kind and he really didn't give a damn what happened to the Republic or the Jedi Order, except insofar that Carra was in it; because he didn't want to think about all the ways that he was wrong for the whole thing, especially with _Mical_ in front of him, who was right in all the ways he wasn't; because, every time he thought of the Force, he thought of _her_, and it disgusted him that even now, nearly two years later, he still remembered the way she had looked at him as she died.

"Why do you want me to be one?" Atton countered.

Carra shrugged. "To defend yourself, if you needed to."

He let out a snort of laughter. "I don't need to be a Jedi to fight them."

"You think you could take me in a fight?" She was watching him, head cocked, green eyes tranquil; around them the wind sang as it blew through the Dantooine prairie. Atton sighed.

"Frack, Carra, I used to hunt Jedi for a living. Of course I could take you."

Her expression did not change. "Show me," she said—the same thing she had said to him, all those weeks ago, in a grimy cantina on Nar Shadda—

In a flash his blaster was under her chin, forcing her head up; his other hand had flipped her lightsaber out of its holster and out of reach. "Bam," Atton said, softly. "Dead. See?"

He didn't wait for the startled flash of her eyes before he moved again. He ducked to the right, rolled, came up behind her with his blaster to her back. "Dead again."

Carra twisted, but he had expected that. The blaster vanished; he rose to his feet, dodged away from her blow, and hooked his left arm around her waist. Her back was against his chest. He put his right hand on her neck, gently, as a lover might, and Carra stopped moving.

"I used to carry these darts with me," he said into her ear. Atton could feel the fluttering of her pulse against his palm; she smelled like wind and flowers. "The Sith had a poison that could take down a Force-user—it dampened the senses and cut off the connection to the Force, and it would disorient Jedi long enough for us to capture them or finish them off."

Carra turned her head. Her cheek brushed against his, and it was such a startlingly intimate touch that Atton stepped back and let her go. "You're very good," she said. Carra held out her hand and her lightsaber went flying into it from the tall grass; "What if you got into a duel?"

Atton shrugged. "I'd probably die."

"Really?" Carra asked curiously, as though he had not just shown her how he could have killed her three different ways in the past minute. "What would you do if a Jedi came after you with a lightsaber?"

Atton gave her a tired smile. "I'd run. And if I couldn't run, I'd switch on my stealth generator and snipe them from the back, and if I couldn't do _that_, I'd try to get them with a dart."

She seemed to be mulling this over. Atton turned and set off again across the empty plain. "Where are we going?" Carra asked, jogging after him.

"You said you wanted to take a walk," he said. "So we're walking."

"I didn't _really_ want to take a walk," Carra said, putting her lightsaber back into its holster. "I just wanted to get you alone."

"I know I'm irresistible," Atton drawled, "but don't you think your room might've been a better place for this sort of thing? I mean, this grass _looks_ nice and all, but you'd be surprised at how prickly it can get, especially if we're going to go rolling around in it—"

"Hmm," Carra said. "I suppose if you mind so much, I should have brought Mical out here instead."

Atton stopped in his tracks and gaped at her.

"Wh-_what?_" he sputtered. "That—that was a joke, right? Because you—you wouldn't _really_ sleep with Mical, would you? I mean—"

"The Disciple is very attuned with nature," Carra said serenely.

"He has stupid hair!" Atton said indignantly. "And—and he's _shorter_ than me! And he's boring! He'd only want you for—for your _moral integrity_!"

Too late he noticed that Carra was doubled over with laughter. Atton crossed his arms and announced, grumpily, "It's _not funny_."

"No, no, you're right," Carra said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Not at all." She glanced at his face, made a choked sound, and made a valiant, though ultimately futile, attempt not to giggle. "Ahem. Not funny. Right. I didn't know you were jealous."

Atton scowled. Why would he be jealous of _Mical_? Just because the other man was spending more time with Carra— "I'm not jealous."

"Right, right," Carra said hastily. "You're not."

He eyed her suspiciously. Carra was smothering giggles again. Disgruntled, Atton turned away and kicked at a tuft of grass. "If you're _quite done_—"

"Sorry." To her credit, she probably _was_ a little sorry for having laughed at him. Carra was like that. He glanced at her. Her eyes were green as a blade of new grass, and behind them he could see the wind blowing, blowing, through the vast, tranquil plain—

"I suppose I shouldn't give you a speech about living to your fullest potential," Carra said.

"Nope."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. You said—"

Atton closed his eyes and sighed. "Look," he said. "You've got enough Jedi around you. Mical, Visas, Bao-Dur—you don't need another one. You need someone who can protect you by thinking the way a Sith would, all right? Let me do that."

She watched him for a long moment. "All right," she said at last. "I'll stop bothering you about Jedi training. But—"

Atton groaned. "What? Stop drinking? Take up charity work? Be nice to Mical?"

"—let me teach you how to use a lightsaber," Carra finished.

"What? Why?" Though, really, it wasn't as bad as having to be nice to _Mical_, so Atton wasn't sure why he was complaining.

"What if you go up against a Sith lord?" Carra asked. She cocked her head, and there was _that_ expression on her face again, as though she were listening to a strain of distant music, and Atton nearly groaned—it was that damned Force sensitivity again, or the precog, or whatever it was she wanted to call it—"Please," she added. "It's important. I—I have a feeling about it."

On the other hand, it was those _feelings_ of hers that had won Revan the Mandalorian War—

And Mical wouldn't be the only one locked up in the practice room with her for hours at a time.

"Yeah, all right," Atton sighed.

Carra smiled.

* * *

A/N: If there's anything weird or not-continuous in these chapters I apologize; finals really wrung me out. Leave me a note if you spot something strange and I'll fix it. I hope no one's disappointed that I skipped over Iziz so quickly--I thought it was a pretty boring planet. Korriban will be cooler.

Also, you guys all suck at guessing. NO ONE got the secondary couple right. I haven't been dropping hints or anything but come on, seriously?


	21. Up and Away

A/N: Apologies to all my readers for dropping off the face of the planet. For, like, two months. My life has been in turmoil, and not the good kind, and I didn't have the inclination to write. But. Hopefull it's getting better. Sorry about the unscheduled hiatus.

This chapter is sort of choppy, as it's an interim/miscellany thing, but here it is anyway. Again, apologies.

* * *

The assault came when Atton was patching up the rest of the battle-droids, and he was so startled that he jumped and knocked his head against the droid's underbelly. It beeped at him in protest.

"Sorry," he told it, slamming its control panel shut. "Your aim's gonna be a bit off, but you better get going."

An affirmative beep this time, and it lumbered off in the direction of the blaring alarms. Atton drew his blasters and went the opposite direction. _Someone_ had to make sure no one was sneaking around the back—

"Atton!"

He stifled a groan. It was Mical.

"Where are you going?" Mical wanted to know, jogging up to him.

"Around the back," Atton said, through gritted teeth. What was Mical doing here? Shouldn't he be, oh, you know, making a brave yet foolhardy charge in the front lines?

"Why?"

"To cover all the points of entry."

"Oh," said Mical. Then he nodded. "That is a good idea. I'll accompany you."

"No, really, you don't have to—"

But Mical wasn't listening. Atton bit back a frustrated curse and followed; they really didn't have the time to be standing around arguing.

--

Arguing, however, seemed to be on the agenda for the day.

The battle itself was a fairly short one. What Atton would remember afterward was standing around amidst the blood and twisted metal near the broken-down back door to the Khoonda complex, shouting at Mical for all he was worth.

It was made all the more embarrassing when Carra came looking for them and discovered that they were shouting about her. Atton fumed all the way to the medical ward. Amidst all the shouting he had failed to notice that he had been shot in the shoulder; Mical, of course, had gotten away completely unscathed.

He really did have stupid hair, Atton thought bitterly.

--

"Were you two arguing throughout the entire fight?" she asked him later, after his arm had been patched up and they were making their way back to the _Hawk_.

"Pretty much, yeah," Atton admitted. His shoulder was still sore. Carra had tried her Jedi healing powers on him, but as she said, it wasn't always perfect—and the medical ward had been crowded with injured fighters after the battle. She had, predictably, insisted on helping them. "Hey, don't worry," he added, trying for a lazy smile. "We still won, didn't we?"

"What was so important," she wanted to know, "that you couldn't have talked about it afterwards?"

The plains were dark; it was far past midnight now. Atton shrugged and regretted it immediately—his shoulder ached and she probably hadn't seen it anyway. "Nothing important," he told her.

She made a disbelieving sound. Atton sighed.

"He told me to leave you alone, I told him you could take care of yourself—there was some name-calling—you get the idea, yeah?"

"He's not so bad, you know," said Carra.

It was Atton's turn to make a disbelieving sound.

Carra stopped. "Atton," she said. "Please be nice to him."

He stared at her. "Why?"

Her face, what he could see of it in the dim light from the starport before them, was absolutely serious. "Because I think he might be in love with me," Carra said.

"Well, _yeah_—"

"It's not a pleasant feeling."

No, it wasn't—it ripped you apart and put you back together, but differently, and you were never quite the same again afterward; Atton sighed, because his shoulder hurt, and because he was remembering that woman who had died for him, and because, despite himself, he felt a twinge of pity for the other man. But hey, here was Carra worrying over Mical; what about _Atton_, huh?

"Sucks to be him, then," Atton said.

Carra sighed.

"_What_?" Atton demanded. "What do you want me to do? Because let me tell you, Carra, he's been getting laid more than everybody else on your crew put together, and that includes me, so—"

"That's not important," Carra said.

"Jedi," Atton groaned, turning away in disgust.

"Well, it shouldn't be—"

"Carra," Atton said, "you're a virgin."

There was silence. Atton peered out into the wild vast expanse of the darkened plains; the night wind was blowing through the grass with a sound like a lover's sigh. Quite romantic, he thought, if Jedi had been the sort to appreciate such things. But clearly they weren't.

"He'll be fine," Atton said. "Can we go, already? It's getting late."

--

They were off to Korriban a few days later, and on the way Carra taught him how to make a lightsaber.

Well. Not just him. Mical was invited to the lesson too, and Bao-Dur was there to help with the technical aspects, and of course the Miraluka—all right, fine, _Visas_—was there to give advice. Or, you know, just stand in the corner, brooding at the world from beneath her veil. Whichever.

_She_ still had her lightsaber—the blood-red one, the sort the Sith carried, and Atton wondered why Carra had let her keep it. But then, Carra could be pretty strange sometimes. She had helped him harvest a crystal from the cave on Dantooine but refused to tell him what color it was; the crystal had looked clear and opaque in the daylight, but Carra had said, cryptically, that its true nature was for him to discover alone. Some days she was nearly as bad as Kreia.

He made a lightsaber. It wasn't hard.

Green, it turned out—green, like the grass of the Dantooine plains, green like the color of Carra's eyes.

--

Atton was awoken in the middle of the sleep-cycle by a pair of yellow eyes and the feel of a blaster barrel against his forehead.

"Threat," said a raspy, whining mechanical voice. "Move, meatbag, and you will be terminated."

"_Meatbag_?" Atton demanded indignantly, and kneed the droid in its control cluster.

It staggered sideways, the blaster firing off a wild shot that would leave a nasty mark on the wall later, and Atton rolled off his bunk and rammed into the droid with his shoulder. It went down with a clatter. Atton stomped down hard on the blaster. It cracked in two; good thing these HK models were useless at hand to hand, or he would be dead—

Two things happened at once: the door slammed open, and Bao-Dur had the presence of mind to wake up and shoot Atton in the leg.

There was some blood. There was some shouting. There was, on Atton's part, a lot of furious cursing, at least until someone turned the lights on and pushed him to the ground.

"Stay still," Mira snapped. "You're losing blood."

"What in space is that fracking droid doing in here—"

"Outraged exclamation: I was under orders from my master to search and destroy all threats onboard this ship—"

"And shut up," Mira added. "Both of you."

Atton shut up. The droid subsided, glaring; Bao-Dur, who looked rather confused, was still holding a blaster. Carra came charging in at that moment, followed by Mical—what were _they_ doing together?—and then, of course, T3 had to come in, too, beeping wildly. Atton scowled at them all.

"Oh, great," he complained. "Why don't we just invite the Sith and that old scow in here, too? Might as well make it a party."

"Atton," Mical said. "You appear to be bleeding quite profusely."

"Thanks, captain obvious—"

"What happened here?" Carra demanded.

"I was attacked!" Atton snapped. The HK unit, upon closer inspection, was rust-red instead of steel, and with sudden dawning horror he glared at Carra. "You _rebuilt_ it?" he demanded. "You actually rebuild the assassin droid? Carra, you've done a lot of stupid things but this really tops it all—"

"Statement: Call me that again, meatbag, and—"

"HK," Carra said, quiet and fierce. "Go to the main cabin. Stay there and put yourself on standby mode. You are not to move until I tell you otherwise. That is an order, do you understand?"

"Statement—"

"You are not to speak until I tell you otherwise."

Atton hadn't thought it was possible for a droid to look sulky, but HK somehow managed it. It clanked to its feet and stalked out. T3 followed, beeping furiously about—taking orders too literally? Atton frowned.

"Uh," Mira said, kneeling next to Atton. "Not to ruin the moment, or anything, but anyone have a medpack?"

Oh, yeah. He was still bleeding. The pillowcase that Mira had wrapped around his leg seemed to be helping, though.

"We're out," Mical said.

Frack.

"Why'd it even come in here?" Atton demanded.

Carra came toward him, frowning, and bent down to examine his leg. "I think it considered you a threat," she said.

"Well," Atton said, sarcastically, "I'm glad someone here still takes me seriously."

The blood loss hit him at that point. The next few hours were a bit of a blur.

--

Bao-Dur came in to apologize later, trailing into the medbay after Mira, and looking rather sheepish.

"Sorry, Atton," the tech said. "I didn't mean to shoot you."

"Do you know how boring it is in here?" Atton complained, sitting up. "Carra couldn't do anything and we're all out of kolto, and I won't be able to walk properly for a _week_—"

"If there's anything I can do—"

Atton scowled. "You can dismantle that damned droid."

"Yeah," Mira said, leaning over to check the diagnostics on the computer. "I told him he should have left it alone, but he wouldn't listen to me."

Bao-Dur sighed. "The General said—"

Atton rolled his eyes. "Carra's a Jedi," he said. "They're all crazy." The tech had worked with them for years, and hadn't realized that yet?

"Carra's one of the saner ones," Mira added. "Ever heard Vrook talk?"

Bao-Dur cast her a reproachful look. "You're supposed to be here for moral support," he accused.

That was interesting. Atton tried not to look too curious. "Moral support?"

"Bao-Dur here was afraid you'd bite his head off," Mira said.

"You know, Mira," Atton drawled, "_I _could use some moral support—"

"Shove it, Rand." She nudged Bao-Dur with her elbow. "I have to get back to the cockpit. Are you coming, or what?"

Another apology, and they left together. Huh. Atton leaned back in the bunk and contemplated the medbay door. Mira and Bao-Dur, in the cockpit together—

He couldn't help but smirk. Bao-Dur _had_ shot him; perhaps a bit of teasing was in order.

* * *

A/N: I've included a link to my website on my profile page, and it's got some more of my writing there in case anyone is interested.


	22. A Landing

A/N: Crap! I totally forgot about the blaster wounds being cauterized thing! So sorry; little details like that are totally slipping my mind at the moment. (Also, I checked, and yeah, Visas really doesn't have any eyes. Sorry about that too. And, um, the horribleness of updates lately.)

* * *

Atton limped his way to the cockpit to oversee the landing on Korriban. Not that he didn't trust Mira to do it properly—she would probably punch him if he implied any such thing—but hey, the _Hawk _was his ship.

Or Carra's. Whatever.

"Hey," Mira greeted him. "How's the leg?"

"I still can't believe your boyfriend shot me," Atton grumbled, plopping himself down in the pilot's chair—at least Mira had had the presence of mind not to sit there. "It hurts, that's how it is."

"Well, this should make you feel better—Carra dismantled the droid."

Atton smirked. "So he's your boyfriend, then?"

"Shove it, Rand."

"Yeah, yeah, all right—"

No one shot at them as he pulled the ship in for a landing, which was a surprise considering Carra was still onboard, and soon the _Hawk_ was settling down gently onto the sands of Korriban. He remembered this place. There was an Academy for the Sith here—

Atton had never trained there, but he had visited, once or twice, when his order had needed new assassins. He hadn't been here in years. Probably for the best, Atton thought, looking out at the barren landscape. He hated this place. If the winds sang as they swept across the empty plains of Dantooine, then here they _shrieked_—raging, furious, and now Atton realized that probably had something to do with the Force, too.

Ugh. It was like some huge, inescapable—_force_.

"Did she really dismantle that droid?" Atton asked.

"Well, not exactly," Mira admitted. "She had Bao-Dur take off its arms and legs, and now it's sitting in the main cabin in case she wants to talk to it."

He grimaced. That was going to make for awkward mealtimes. Those yellow eyes were pretty creepy. "She couldn't have put it in the storage room?"

"That's my bedroom."

Oh yeah. She and the Sith assassin—or Visas, whatever—were sleeping there now. Maybe they could cover the droid with a cloth or something. At least Carra had _some_ sense. Atton got gingerly to his feet. "I'm going to let Carra know we've landed," he said. "Where is she?"

"Cargo hold," Mira said, not bothering to hide her smirk. "Training. With all of your favorite people."

Atton groaned.

--

"Where's your lightsaber?" was the first thing Carra asked when he walked in. Visas and Mandalore tumbled between then, fighting unarmed, and Atton quickly stepped out of the way against the wall. Mical and Kreia turned to look at him.

All his favorite people, all right.

"Uh," he said. "In my room?"

"A Jedi carries his lightsaber with him at all times," said Mical severely.

Atton rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm not a Jedi—"

Carra cleared her throat discreetly. "Do you need anything, Atton?"

"We've landed," Atton said shortly.

Kreia snorted. "Are you certain?" she asked. "Usually your landings end in disaster and a great deal of the ship up in flames."

"All right, listen, you old—"

"_Atton_," Carra said.

"She started it!"

"Oh, _force_," Carra sighed, and signaled for Visas and Mandalore to stop. They separated, panting, and Carra stepped into the center of the room. "Mical, you're up against Visas next, a lightsaber duel with Kreia watching," she ordered. "Mandalore, I'll be back in a moment and we can spar. Come on, Atton, let's go get your lightsaber."

"My leg hurts," Atton complained, following her out the door of the cargo hold.

"You should still carry it with you even if you're not planning to use it," Carra said over her shoulder. "You never _plan_ to use it, you know. But you need to have it."

Her lightsaber swung at her hip, sleek and silver and deadly. Atton eyed it warily. He'd really much rather just shoot someone in the back.

"Jedi," he grumbled to himself.

He could swear she was grinning. "We're not so bad," Carra said.

"There's Vrook, there's Kreia—"

She came, suddenly, to a stop as they were passing through the main cabin, and swung around to face him. "There's me," she said, tilting her face up toward him. "There's Revan, who you followed to the dark side and back again; there was that woman, who—"

"_Don't_," Atton said fiercely, and Carra fell silent.

A voice from the corner made them both jump. "Statement," said HK's whining, nasal voice. "Master, I do believe I must reiterate my point that this human should be terminated at the earliest possible opportunity—"

"Shut up, scrap heap," Atton snapped.

"Statement: I don't take orders from you, meatbag."

"Atton is not a threat," Carra said (patiently, as though explaining something to a small child).

Atton scowled at her, feeling slightly insulted. "I'll have you know I'm a very dangerous man," he said irritably.

"Oh, yes," Carra said. She sounded amused. "Very dangerous."

"Plea: Master, if you would only listen for a moment—"

"All right," Carra said, sighing and turning to face the corner, where the HK unit (legless and armless) was currently sulking. "What is it?"

"Statement," it said, glaring at Atton. "I do not have access to certain segments of my memory core, but the visual of this particular meatbag has activated a dormant trigger in some of my subroutines. Lord Malak has classified this individual as highly dangerous to Jedi, and you, Master, are a Jedi."

There was silence from Carra. Curious, Atton peered at her; she had lost all trace of good humor. "Malak is dead," Carra said.

"Statement: I am well aware. Query: Are you all right, Master? Your breathing patterns show signs of significant stress, and your heart rate has increased by twenty-two percent—"

Carra lifted her hand. There was, all of a sudden, a crackling aura of electricity around her that made Atton's hair stand on end, and in the next moment the droid had gone cold and dark and utterly silent.

His skin tingled. He had seen Revan do that once, on a sun-scorched planet years ago, and the air had shivered with the scent of ozone and thunderstorms. "Carra?" he said cautiously.

She would not look at him. "Come on," she said. "Let's go get your lightsaber."

Hers swayed as she stalked out of the room. Atton frowned after her.

Weird.

Carra had known Malak, hadn't she? And Revan, too. They had all been at Dantooine together, it seemed, and Carra had followed them into war, and she had left them after the incident at Malachor V. She spoke of Revan sometimes—wistfully—but hearing a droid mention Malak's name was enough for her to disable it. Possibly with quite a bit of damage, although Atton certainly wasn't enough of an expert on droids to confirm.

She hadn't killed him when he told her he used to be an assassin; she hadn't even killed Visas, who had come after her with lightsabers blazing. Carra was polite to T3. She had been polite to _Vrook_, for crying out loud, and if there was anyone who deserved a punch to the nose it was that self-righteous Jedi Master.

He caught up to her in the room he shared with Bao-Dur. Carra was standing by the door; Atton nearly crashed into her as he came in. "Your room's a mess," she informed him.

"Sorry," he drawled. "I haven't exactly been in the best shape for entertaining company lately."

"Where's your lightsaber?" Carra asked him.

"I mean, I sort of got shot in the leg and all, it's really been putting a crimp in my social calendar—"

"Atton—"

"—not that there's much of a chance for socializing _anyway_, the way you keep dragging us across the entirety of the known _galaxy_—"

"Atton!"

He stopped. She had turned around and was frowning at him severely—instead of, say, laughing—and there were shadows in her eyes again, shadows like the ones he had seen when he had met her on Peragus and she could not feel the Force.

"It's under my bed, probably," Atton said.

She had looked lost, then. She had looked as though she were blind and deaf all at once, locked into a maze with an exit she couldn't find—and she looked lost, now, but it was an entirely different sort of lost; as though she were someplace familiar, but had gotten lost anyway, and was furious with herself for being unable to remember.

"Keep it with you," Carra said. "It isn't something to be thrown aside lightly."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, and putting up with the shoddy update schedule. I am blaming this on boy trouble. Boys SUCK. (apologies, of course, to all my male readers, who I'm sure are not all heartless jerks who like to string girls along and then drop them and then-- *ahem*. Excuse me.)

Don't worry, this won't change the overall arc of the story, which I've planned outbeforehand. No need to be afraid that I'll kill everyone off by making a load of rocks fall on their heads or something.


	23. Korriban

A/N: Longish chapter this time.

* * *

Korriban was hot and dusty, and Atton hated it.

It was a dry heat—nothing like Dxun, which was damp and green and dripping everywhere with the moisture from the jungle—no, Korriban was dry and harsh, full of craggy canyons and sand and monsters everywhere. The wind shrieked through the wreckage of what had been the Sith Academy.

The Force shrieked, too, howling and clawing at the perimeter of his mind, and it put Atton on edge. It didn't _hurt,_ not the way Dantooine had hurt, but it wasn't exactly pleasant, either. Atton settled himself in a corner of the ruins, underneath an overhang, and glared out at the desolate expanse before them.

_Stand watch_, Carra had said, which wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been for some stupid reason, like Mical noticing that he was limping.

"Of course I'm limping," Atton had snapped. "I got shot in the leg. What'd you expect, I'd be able to waltz around right afterward—"

And it had looked like they would have another argument, until Carra had stepped in and insisted Atton stay outside the remains of the Academy and be on guard for any wandering beasts that might come in after them.

As though, you know, she wouldn't need him _inside_, where there were probably even more wandering beasts. Atton scowled. Everyone else had gone in—well, except for Kreia, who was still back on the _Hawk._ And Bao-Dur, who was off exploring somewhere else. And Mandalore, who had also been put on guard duty.

All right, all right, _fine_, so it was only Visas and Mira and Mical in there with her, but still.

Which meant—great. He was stuck out here with Mandalore, although he supposed it could have been worse. It could be Mical. Or Kreia. Or that bloody assassin, or that annoying heap of scrap metal that wouldn't leave well enough alone even when he'd made it very clear that he wished it would go away, thanks very much—

"So," Mandalore said, from the other end of the entranceway. "I hear you knew Revan."

Atton's hands were on his blasters in a flash.

"Don't be an idiot," Mandalore said, sounding fairly nonchalant about the fact that there were two blasters pointing at his head. "Your precious Jedi wouldn't have invited me along if I couldn't play nice."

"What do you know about Revan?" Atton demanded.

"I traveled with her a few years ago," Mandalore said. He leaned back against the stone of the Academy, arms crossed over his chest; a stray wind came up and blew little eddies of dust about their feet. "She was a great fighter. Ruthless."

"Yeah?" Atton said, wary, and did not let his blasters drop.

"Yeah," Mandalore said. He nodded toward the weapons. "You can put those away," he said. "I know about Revan and her pretty-boy assassins."

_Pretty-boy assassins?_ Indignant did not even begin to cover what Atton was feeling as he slammed the blasters back into the holsters at his waist—next to the lightsaber he carried now, he noted absently, though of course it was his blasters he still reached for first—and he glared at Mandalore. "And?" he demanded.

Because of the hot sun, Mandalore had taken off his helmet, which meant that Atton was now treated to the sight of the man rolling his eyes extravagantly. "Wanted to know if Carra had said anything about her," Mandalore said. "You know. Recently."

Atton snorted. "What gave you the idea Carra tells me these things?"

The other man shrugged. "You two seem to be pretty close."

"Yeah?" Atton said, a trifle bitter. "Why didn't you try Mical, then, if you wanted someone close?"

"She wouldn't talk to him about Revan."

Which was true. She wouldn't, would she? Mical was all decency and honor and the Jedi Code, through and through, and Carra was a Jedi but she wasn't blind to the way the Sith were. Mical couldn't even seem to comprehend the concept of greed, or lust or fury.

"No," Atton said. "She hasn't said anything. Revan just—disappeared, yeah? She hasn't seen her either."

Mandalore nodded.

"Didn't really expect anything," he said, sounding a trifle weary. "Wish she'd taken me with her."

"Revan?" Now Atton was curious. "Beyond the Outer Rim, you mean? Why?"

"She needed help. She couldn't fight it on her own—whatever she's fighting, out there—but—" and here he shrugged, "—you know those damned Jedi. Always too proud to ask for help."

Atton would have agreed with this a few months ago. Now he found himself raising his eyebrows. If Revan really had been a Jedi: "She probably didn't want to send you into danger," Atton said, thinking of Carra and the way she tried to protect—well, damned near everyone.

"That would be an even worse insult," Mandalore retorted.

But he could see the other man considering it. It was likely true, in any case; if it wasn't one thing with the Jedi, it was another, but they were mostly all linked to grandstanding and stupidity.

Atton shifted. The wall was uncomfortably hard against his back. "I hope they come back soon," he grumbled. "I'm hungry."

--

They didn't find anything at the Academy except for dust and a recalcitrant central computer, so clearly it was a good idea to come back the next day.

"This is ridiculous," Atton complained, kicking at the drifts of sand that were everywhere. "What are you looking for, anyway? There's nothing alive here."

"Master Vash was last seen here," Carra said, walking next to him. "I have to find her."

"Carra, what if she's dead?"

"I still have to find her," Carra said.

She probably wasn't petty enough to hold that brief argument against him, but Atton ended up on guard duty again anyway, even though he insisted that his leg was fine. This time he got stuck with Visas, too. They glared at each other from either side of the entranceway as the others went inside.

Or at least, Atton glared; Visas merely dusted of the front of her veil, unhooked her lightsaber, and began practicing her stances.

As though he didn't warrant any attention, Atton thought, vastly irritated. Really, this entire trip was doing a number on his ego. There was Mical, who was apparently inexplicably attractive to Mandalorian women; there was Carra, who flirted without knowing what it meant; there was Mira, who apparently found alien techs more to her liking than handsome young pilots—

"Let's spar," Atton bit out finally, when he couldn't stand being ignored any longer, and Visas turned to regard him from beneath her veil and bowed her head in acceptance.

They fought. Visas was much better than he was; she had been training with a lightsaber for years, and Atton had only just started. He had the sinking suspicion that she was going easy on him. Still, it was better than just waiting around, even if his leg was still a bit sore, and Atton had just tripped over a rock and gone flying backward when he realized that something was wrong.

Visas came at him, red light blurring in the hot dusty sun, and Atton rolled out of the way. "Stop," he said, panting. "Hold on."

She lowered her lightsaber. "Do you need a break?" she asked, in that cool emotionless voice of hers.

"Can't you feel that?" Atton demanded, pushing himself to his feet. The timbre of the shrieking had changed. "There's something—different—"

They both glanced at the Academy. "Carra," Atton said. "She's doing—something."

Visas had tilted her head, listening. "I don't understand," she said.

Atton was already hurrying toward the doors. "I don't either," he said grimly, sheathing his lightsaber. "But she touched something, you know how she is, and something else is after her, and—"

"Wait!" Visas called, and Atton stepped through the entrance and turned around in time to see the blast doors slamming shut between them.

"Frack," he said out loud. The doors were locked. He kicked at them, futilely, and was momentarily blinded in the sudden darkness of the Academy. There was a scrabbling at his mind that was not the shrieking of Korriban or the strange twisting _thing_ that had awoken inside the ruins; Visas, Atton thought, and grudgingly opened up a fraction.

_The doors are locked_, he snapped at her. _Remote access only, shielded against blasters and energy weapons—_

_I will go back to the ship and warn the others_, Visas said. _Will you look for the Jedi?_

There was a thread of worry in her voice. Atton rolled his eyes. Yeah, first she wanted to kill Carra, and now she was _worrying_ about her—

_I have sworn myself to her_, Visas said coolly into the depths of his mind. _Do not be so skeptical, Atton Rand; I am not the only one who would die for her if she asked_.

And, before Atton could think up a suitable retort, Visas was gone.

--

It was noticeably cooler inside. Atton waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then pulled out his blasters and set off down the hallway. His lightsaber thumped against his hip; he ignored it. Carra could lecture him later if she wanted—and he was carrying it, wasn't he? So really there wasn't anything to lecture him about.

Who had gone in with her? Mandalore, this time, and she had brought Mical and Mira with her today. They were probably off in pairs. Jedi didn't do too well in large groups—they weren't soldiers, after all, and pairs would reflect the master-padawan relationship Carra was probably most familiar with—

Atton stopped, frowning. There were strange stirrings in the air; the presence twisted at him, dark and strange, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't some mindless presence at all, but a _person_.

Frack. He'd been spending too much time around Carra. Jedi did things like listen to the Force.

Atton was not a Jedi.

But he listened anyway, because he wasn't an idiot, and through all the howling rage and fury that was Korriban there was something different—

He went on.

--

In the end, it was Carra who found him, standing over the bodies of the two Sith assassins that had tried to sneak up on him from behind. "Atton!" she said, staring at him from across the hallway. "What are you doing in here?"

"I got locked in," he said tersely. "Where are the others?"

"Mira and Mandalore are off in the other wing. Mical's a few rooms back, he took a shot to the head." She came up to him and examined the bodies at his feet, frowning. "You wouldn't have a medpack on you, would you?"

Medpacks. They had bigger problems. Atton shoved his blasters back into their sheaths and glared at her. "Carra, why in space did the front doors suddenly lock? Why are there assassins here? I thought you said this place was deserted!"

"I think," she said slowly, "this was a trap."

--

"Why can't you just do that healing thing?" Atton asked, as he wound a strip of kolto-soaked bandage around Mical's head. "Wouldn't that be faster?"

Carra shook her head. She did not look troubled, only grim; "I can't," she said. "Mical, can you walk? You'd better get back to the entrance. I'll see if I can find a way to open the doors from inside."

Mical looked ready to argue. Atton rolled his eyes. "Get going," he snapped. "You'll only slow us down if you try and help."

"I would not," Mical said hotly, even though he looked about ready to faint.

"Please," Carra said.

And Mical shut his mouth and went. Atton looked after him, and remembered: _I am not the only one who would die for her if she asked_, Visas had said—

Well, it was damned stupid of him to die for anyone, Atton thought irritably, and turned to Carra. "How are we going to get out?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

Atton raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, you don't know?" he demanded. "Aren't you Jedi always supposed to know what to do? Can't you do that thing where you listen to the Force and—"

"I _can't_," Carra said, and there was something very much like misery in her voice. Atton shut up.

"Hey," he said, after a moment. "I'm sorry. You okay?"

Her eyes were bright, even in the dimness of the Academy. "Yes," she said. Then: "No. Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, that about covers all the options," Atton said dryly.

She didn't even smile. Carra looked away from him, into the dusty corners of what had once been a classroom, and her hand was tightfisted around the silver of her lightsaber. "Do you know the Jedi Code?" she asked him.

Of course he did. "_There is no emotion, there is peace_," Atton recited. "_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge; there is no passion, there is serenity—_"

"Know your enemy," Carra said, wry, because it was true—she had never taught him the Code.

"Yeah." He frowned at her. "Carra, what's wrong?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"I am not at peace," she said at last, which was such an absurdly sweeping statement that Atton was tempted to roll his eyes and remark on the trademark Jedi crypticness—but she was a Jedi, so maybe it did explain everything. He sighed.

"Why not?"

"I thought I knew everything," Carra said. She was staring down at the lightsaber in her hand. "But I don't. And it's—so _complicated_, and maybe the Masters were right—"

Like hell they were—whatever it was. Atton sighed again and put his hands on her shoulders; she jumped a little, at the touch, but did not flinch, which he took to be a good sign. "Look," Atton said. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But you woke something up here, and we have to get out, and if finding peace is so important to you, can't you—can't you meditate, or something?"

She shook her head. Atton stamped down on the thought of _oh great, we're going to die in here_ and tugged her towards him instead; to his surprise, she came, and buried her cheek against his shoulder, and for a terrifying moment Atton thought she was going to cry.

But she didn't. Carra didn't even let go of her lightsaber; she leaned against him, her breath drawing out in something very much like a sigh, and Atton put his arms around her and wondered how in space he had gotten himself caught up in all this.

Yeah, he was doing a really excellent job of running from the Jedi here, Atton thought sardonically—what with one leaning _right against him_ and all—

Although, come to think of it, it wasn't _entirely_ bad—

Carra said something, voice muffled against his shirt.

"What?"

She pulled back. "It's a trap," she said. "Someone's set it up for us—for me. I'll have to spring it."

Frack, she was going all suicidal on him again. He scowled down at her. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes," Carra said, turning away from him. "I think Mira and Mandalore were headed to the library. Go there, get them, and head to the entrance—"

"And what are you going to do?" Atton demanded. "Walk right into the trap and wait for someone to shoot you in the head?"

"You know," Carra said wryly, "it does sound a lot stupider when you put it that way."

"You don't even know if that'll get the door open."

"Why wouldn't it? If they only want me, then—"

Atton could think of half a dozen people who wanted _him_ dead, without even trying. He rolled his eyes. "Get over yourself," he snapped at her. "You can try telling Mandalore and Mira to leave, but don't even think about ordering me around."

Carra sighed. "We should go," she said instead.

--

They never made it to the library.

"Vash," Carra said, very softly, and went to her knees on the blood-stained floor.

But soon they had bigger problems than a dead Jedi Master.

--

They found the codes to the central computer on Vash's body, which gave them full access to the Academy but also alerted everything in it to their presence when the lockdown was lifted. Every door opened—even the insignificant ones, to the power closets or the dormitories—every light went flashing on, every air vent decided to prove that it was functional—

"Frack," Atton said, slamming his hand down on the console's surface, which elicited an indignant beep from the computer. The _presence _was eager, now, swaying madly through the Academy, live and watchful and alert. They were well and trapped, even if the doors were open.

"We might as well have sent out an invitation to whatever's in this place," he complained. "Someone planted those overrides on her body."

"Yes," Carra said, sounding supremely unsurprised. She looked up at him, her fingers running over the surface of her lightsaber, and shook her hair back from her face. There had been a tie, but she had lost it somewhere—somewhere between finding Vash, and the second group of assassins—

"Think we can run for it?" Atton asked.

She hesitated. "I don't think so. Atton—"

He groaned.

Carra's jaw had taken on its customary stubborn tilt. "I'm serious," she said. "There's something—waiting. And when it finds me, I want you to run."

All right, at this point he was fairly sure it was after her—Atton didn't know _anything_ that could match the dark vengeful presence that had woken in the Academy—but he would be damned if he was going to let her walk into this. He scowled at her. Jedi and their idiotic chivalry—no wonder there was only one of them left.

"We're not having this argument here," he announced, and set off toward what he hoped was the exit.

"_Atton_," Carra said, catching up to him—

—and it was strange, Korriban was full of death and howling fury, and that _presence_ was cruel and hungry and fierce—but even so, he could still feel the dark edges of the shadow that Carra was spreading—hollow and lonely, as she had been on Peragus, as she had been at the Ithorian compound—

He would have thought everything else would have drowned her out.

"I will not have you dying here for me," Carra said, low and fierce. "I want you to _leave_—"

If she had wanted someone who would take orders, she should have stuck to Mical; Atton kept walking, and said, "Don't be an idiot, Carra."

"Atton, don't make me force you—"

In a flash Atton had turned on her and was shoving her up against the wall; he had taken her by surprise, because she stumbled, and in the next moment his blaster was out and pointing at her heart.

Apparently, yes, they _were_ having this argument here.

"I've had enough Jedi crawling around in my head to last a lifetime," Atton said. "There's that mind trick you Jedi like to use so much, yeah? If you try it, I'll shoot you."

She stared at him.

"I'm not leaving you here," he said. The hand holding the blaster didn't even waver, which he had expected but was proud of anyway; this was Carra, after all, and his heart was thumping painfully in his chest. And, bitterly: "I thought you said you weren't that sort of Jedi."

There was a long moment of silence.

She opened her mouth, closed it; opened it again, and said, much subdued: "You're right. I'm sorry."

He lowered his blaster a fraction. "Good."

"Would you really have shot me?" Carra asked.

He didn't know. "Would you really have forced me?" he demanded.

That expression again—lost and haunted and lonely—she didn't know, either, and Atton saw, all of a sudden, what a long, long way a Jedi had to fall. He sighed and let his arm drop to his side. "Let's get out of here," he said.

--

The central hall of the Sith Academy was all dingy steel and harsh white lights set into the walls; in the center, instead of assassins, there was only one man—cracked gray skin, and hatred, and rage and pain and furious eagerness—

Carra had turned white.

Red light flared to life in the Sith Lord's hand. A hiss: "_Exile—_"

* * *

A/N: Boys still suck but you guys are awesome. Thanks to all my reviewers for your support, boy-wise and story-wise--I really, really, really appreciate it! See, here I am distracting myself with writing fanfic. (Also, some fairly emo poetry, for some reason.) Which is sort of productive, right?


	24. Valley of the Sith Lords

A/N: Guys, I am soooooo sorry for the sporadic updates. (But hey, that's why story alert was invented, right?) Exams and papers and such are coming up, which is of course why I'm writing fanfic instead. Angsty fanfic! Whoo!

Two chapters this time, because they're both short.

* * *

Atton fired.

The shot sank into the cracked skin without a mark. He cursed.

"Don't," Carra said, which would've been useful advice, oh, maybe _two seconds ago_.

_Exile_. The voice, again, hissing through the ear and the mind all at once. _I know why you have come._

"Sion," Carra said. "What do you want?"

Atton gave up on the blasters. The lightsaber, maybe, though he'd be no match for a Sith Lord in a fight—and he'd only get in Carra's way—

_You seek answers. There are none. _Sion stepped toward them, once, twice, and at the third step Carra flicked on her lightsaber, violet blades coming to life in her hand. Sion stopped.

"You killed Vash," Carra said.

—maybe they could run for it, though the only way to the exit seemed to be behind Sion—

_I needed something to draw you here._

"I'm here," Carra said, and her face was grim. "What do you want?"

_I know the paths you walked in exile_, Sion said. _I know your teacher. I know the fires that raged upon the Dxun moon while the Republic died around you._

—maybe a grenade, that would certainly distract him—

But Carra had stepped in front of him even as Atton was reaching toward his belt, and she put her hand on his arm, stopping him. He stared at her back. She didn't think she was going to _talk_ them out of this one, did she? Sion wanted her _dead_.

_You know war. You know battle._

_And I know of Malachor, exile. I know of its death, and I know of Revan and Malak and the bonds between you—_

"So you had spies in the Jedi order," Carra said.

_Spies? _Sion regarded her with his cold, dead eyes. _No, exile. I have studied you, immersed myself in you_—

There was a flash of movement, so fast that even Atton was taken by surprise; there was a clash, brief and furious, in the center of the hall, and in seconds it was over. Carra was back at Atton's side, panting a little, and she shook her hair back from her face and straightened up.

Sion looked down at the three deep gouges her lightsaber had carved into his chest. The marks were fading away even as they watched.

_I know you, exile_, Sion said. _You know what it means to be broken._

_You know what it means to remake yourself, out of the ashes of what you have been, into something stronger—as do I._

"Let me guess," Atton drawled. "You two are so much alike, _clearly_ you were meant for each other—"

_You are weak to give your followers so much freedom_, Sion said, sounding annoyed—the first trace of emotion he had shown during the conversation.

"And you should take better care of yours," Carra said; in the distance, faintly, Atton could hear her speaking to someone he recognized: _the entrance is open, go, please—_

Then: "Atton. Now."

He tossed the thermal detonator he had been holding.

There was a shiver of power from Carra. There was a tidal wave of it from Sion that sent them both crashing against the wall, and then the detonator had gone off in a blast of white light and fire—

The lights went out. A chunk of the ceiling fell down and hit Atton on the shoulder.

Carra seized his arm in the darkness and pulled him into a run.

--

There were collapsing ceilings everywhere, and all of the lights were out. How the hell had they managed to ruin all the lights with just one detonator? The Academy might have been the training grounds for the Sith but it certainly wasn't winning any prizes for engineering—

Atton ran, Carra's hand still in his, and she acted as though she knew where she was going so he followed her—

He realized, after a moment, that they weren't headed toward the exit.

Granted, this probably had something to do with the fact that the ceiling of the central hall had collapsed when the detonator had gone off; Atton was pretty sure he hadn't been _aiming_ for the ceiling, so it must have been Carra's doing; not that, in retrospect, burying him under a ton of rubble was a bad idea. Atton had the sinking feeling that not even exploding a thermal detonator in Sion's face would kill the man.

Or whatever he was.

"Carra—" His foot slipped on an uneven surface, and she hauled him upright wordlessly. "Carra, what the hell are we doing?"

"Come on." Her voice was breathless. "We haven't got much time."

"Carra, I can't _see_."

"Then don't let go," she said, as though it were perfectly normal for her to be able to see in pitch black. Perhaps it was. "Hurry. His assassins are coming—"

"Where are we even going?" Atton demanded. She was pulling him forward again, swift, inexorable. "Carra, the exit's the other way—"

"It's buried." She sounded tense. "You should've left when I told you to."

He growled at her, frustrated, and not a little winded. "We are _not_ having this argument here. Again."

There were the dark edges of shadow around her again, and she tightened her grip on his hand. "We wouldn't have to if you'd listened to me!" Carra snapped.

He couldn't have left her, not even if he'd wanted to, and Atton didn't understand but he had given up on understanding. "You Jedi," he said bitterly. In the darkness, Carra pulled him into a turn, and he bumped his shoulder painfully against the corner. "You like to have things your own way, don't you?"

"It's for—" another turn "—you own good—"

"—yeah, like I haven't heard that one before—"

"—because it's _true_!"

Atton stopped. Carra nearly lost her grip on him as she went careening forward; at the last moment she realized that he wasn't following, and turned back, her quick indrawn breath indicating that she was about to say something. Probably something along the lines of him listening to her, because, after all, the Jedi were so famed for their wisdom.

Yeah, so damned famed that they were now practically extinct. Atton pulled her toward him, rough, uncaring, and kissed her.

It was mostly through blind luck that he managed it; he couldn't see her, after all, but he remembered the shape of her body and the stubborn tilt of her chin she doubtless had, and he was rewarded with her startled gasp when he caught her on the lips. He kissed her, hard and fierce, and Carra went very still in his arms, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips like a butterfly's wing. She staggered against him when he let go.

"We arenot having this argument here," he told her, for the third time that day.

Her fingers tightened against the front of his shirt. But for once, she didn't argue.

--

Two locked doors and an assassin later, the walls turned from smooth durasteel to the craggy surface of rock, and there was, far in the distance, a light—

But it wasn't sunlight.

It was a tomb.

Valley of the Sith Lords. Of course it would be a bloody crypt, they wouldn't have the luck to be able to just walk out—

The door rose up before them, high and imposing. There were lights set around it, enough to see by, and Carra dropped Atton's hand. "There's a way out through here." Carra touched the door carefully with her fingertips. To Atton's surprise, the lock clicked open, as though it had been waiting for her.

Perhaps it had. The Force shrieked here, on Korriban, but it was still there—

"Great, great," he drawled. "So, what's the bad news?"

She looked up at him. "We'll have to go through it alone. It's a test, I think. It'll separate us."

He stared. Carra didn't look as though she were joking. "You're crazy," Atton said flatly. "I mean, I know I've said it before, but—"

"Well, it's _true_," Carra said, looking stubborn.

"—and don't tell me this is from that Jedi trick you like to pull, you just gave me a whole speech about how you weren't at peace—"

"It's not—it's not _that_," Carra said. "Someone left a message here, for me." And she pointed to a column of barely decipherable scratches on the surface of the door, more like burn marks than anything else.

"—and you couldn't listen to the Force, and—"

Atton stopped. He glanced at the door. "Right," he said. "I have to break it to you, but that looks like some kid came by and did some target practice with an old blaster."

"It's a message," Carra said firmly.

Atton groaned.

"It's from someone I trust," she said, her fingertips going over the scratches again. "From—a while ago—"

"Please tell me it's not Revan."

"It's forbidden for a Jedi to lie, you know."

Carra didn't even smile when she said it. She just looked at him, grim.

So it _was_ Revan. Oh, great, they were stuck in a crumbling ruin with one Sith Lord, and now they were about to take advice from another—

"We're going to die," Atton said, with deep conviction.

"We all die sometime," Carra said. And, softly: "You should have left with Mical."

"You would be dead already, if I had," he retorted. Jedi weren't the sort to carry around thermal detonators. "You sure there isn't another way out?"

More pressingly, how long would their crewmates hold the ship? The planet was apparently crawling with Sion's assassins—but then again, Atton thought sardonically, his ship was apparently full of idiots who were willing to die for this one damned Jedi. Himself included, possibly.

It was a sobering thought.

"There might be," Carra said. "I wouldn't recommend looking, though."

She looked at the door again. It opened for her, obligingly, and beyond it Atton could see a long, long hallway stretching out into the dimness. Carra brushed her dust-streaked hair out of her eyes. "Come on," she said, and set off.


	25. The Tomb

It was chilly in the crypt—chillier than even the Sith Academy, which wasn't surprising, as Atton had the feeling that the crypt was even further underground. He kept his hands on his blasters and tried not to jump when Carra disappeared.

They had walked into a long, low-ceilinged room with a carved pillar in the center. Atton had said, "Hey, I wonder what that is."

He had turned around, because Carra had been trailing behind him, at which point he had discovered that she was nowhere in the room.

"Frack," he said out loud, and kicked the pillar. "Bloody crypts."

Maybe she had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Which would've been impressive, since there hadn't been any turns.

But, oh yeah, she was a Jedi, which of course meant she had the unique ability to make convolutions out of bloody well _anything_.

"Frack," Atton said again. He glanced around. The room was utterly empty except for the pillar. Right. So, on the plus side, nothing was trying to kill him at the moment. On the minus side, Mical was going to murder him if he went back to the _Hawk_ without Carra.

Well, at least she had warned him.

There were three hallways leading out of the room, not counting the one he had come in through. Atton scowled at them all. He'd already lost Carra. What was the point of making him pick something _now_?

"Bloody Sith architects," he muttered, and headed for the one closest to him.

Them and the engineers. Malevolent forces of darkness the Sith might be, but Atton didn't see how they had lasted so long with faulty wiring and shaky ceilings.

--

It got colder as he walked. It got darker, too; strange shadows were crawling at the edges of his vision. Atton could feel the Force pressing on him.

It wasn't the shrieking of Korriban or the careless unceasing sighs of Dantooine; it wasn't even the agonized screaming that Sion had brought with him. This was different. This was the Force, whispering a song just beyond the edge of hearing, as though it were trying to tell him something—and Atton wondered, briefly, if that was what Carra felt all the time.

"You know, a map would really help," he said out loud.

"There isn't one," a voice said. "They killed both the architects."

Atton whirled around, blasters out.

And _she_ came stepping forward, wreathed in shadows and memory, and Atton found, all of a sudden, that it hurt to breathe. "You," he said. "You're dead."

"Of course I am," said the woman he had killed.

He had forgotten what she looked like. Dark hair, and wide dark eyes, and that damned _tranquility_—

Atton fired. She dodged. Of course she would—he'd had to take her down while she was asleep, back when he had captured her, and she'd been deadly with her lightsaber even then—

"Rand," she said. "Relax."

"You're _dead_," he ground out, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. "How the hell am I supposed to be _relaxing_?"

"You know none of this is real, right?"

That didn't make it any less dangerous. Atton scowled at her. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"You needed a guide," she said, cool and unflappable. "Are you going to listen to me or not?"

A choice, here; a test, Carra had called it.

Carefully, Atton lowered his blasters. She came toward him, her dark hair swirling about her shoulders, and Atton stamped down hard on the urge to touch her. She would not be real, in any case, because he had left her dead and bleeding on the floor of the interrogation room—

"I'm sorry," Atton said, and was appalled with himself for saying it.

"Yes," said the ghost of the Jedi Knight. "I know."

He followed her as she headed down the hallway. "That's it?" he demanded. "That's all you're going to say about it?"

"I'm sorry too, Atton."

He'd _loved_ her, and she was dead.

"I thought about you," Atton said viciously, slamming his blasters back into their holsters. "For weeks and weeks afterward. Months. Years. I couldn't get you out of my head. And you know what? I _killed_ you because I wanted you out of my head—"

"I know."

"Of course you know." He glared at her, bitter. "You're a ghost, aren't you? Or a hallucination. Or something. You're not real."

He had remembered her in her blood-splattered Jedi robes; white and tan and silver-edged, splashes of red everywhere, her dark eyes blazing at him as she forced her way past his shields—

But here she was, immaculate. There was not a speck of blood anywhere on her pristine robes or her pristine skin.

"So _angry_," she said, glancing at him. "There is no passion, Rand, there is serenity. Remember that?"

"I hate you," he spat. He drew in a sharp, ragged breath, and wished he'd never set foot on Korriban. "Why can't you damned well leave me alone? You bloody Jedi. I _hate_ you."

"I know."

"Of course you know." He wanted to touch her. He wanted to ask her to forgive him, but of course she did; she was a Jedi, dammit, and forgiveness had been the last thing she'd given him before she'd given him her life. "I probably look like a fool, huh? Wandering around, talking to myself—"

"You are not a fool, and you never have been," she said. Her voice was so damned tranquil he wanted to punch something. "You're here, aren't you? You're learning from your mistakes."

"I'm here because I followed this crazy Jedi into this place," Atton snapped. "I should've left on Nar Shadda, when I had the chance."

"But you didn't."

Because she's been haunting him, then—and he had let her die, once, but he couldn't let her die again. Not when she had looked out at him through Carra's eyes.

Or Carra had looked at him through her eyes. It was all getting pretty muddled.

"Why me?" His voice was bitter. "Who was I to you, huh? Just some Sith assassin who'd managed to get the better of you for a moment. And you would _die_ for me."

"I would have died anyway," she said gently. "Better for you, than for nothing—and you are not unworthy. No one is."

They walked on in silence for a while, the long gleaming hallway stretching out before them. She took him through another room, this one lined with holocrons around the edges, and out into another hallway; Atton was glad, at least, that she seemed to know where she was going, even if it hurt to look at her.

At last there was a door. She stopped before it and turned toward him. "Here you are," said the Jedi's ghost. "There's only a shyrack cave beyond."

Atton scowled at her. "Only?" he demanded, his voice steady, even as he was thinking _but I'll never see you again—_

She merely clasped her hands together and looked up at him. Atton swallowed, hard. "You're not even real," he said, his voice raw. "You're a—a hallucination, aren't you?"

"I'm real enough for you," she said gently.

"I loved you," Atton said. It hurt to say it. But he had never told her, when she was alive.

"I know."

"Will you stop saying that?" he demanded.

"Sorry." She didn't sound very contrite. "But it's true."

Of course it was. She'd know, wouldn't she? She was a Jedi, even if she was dead. "Is this it, then?" he demanded. "This is the test Carra was talking about? I get to just—just walk out?" Like he had walked out, all those years and years ago, while her blood-splattered body lay crumpled on the floor—

"Of course not." she said.

"Then what?" His heart was pounding.

She spread her hands out before her, palms up, empty and unarmed. She smiled.

"You have to kill me," she told him.

* * *

A/N: So I've messed around with the game's plot, but I think it makes sense in context.

On another note, I've noticed that I've recently been added to a lot of people's story alerts/story favorites/author favorites. Sort of really randomly. Like, statisically improbably randomly. Have I been added to a community or something? Not that I don't welcome the attention, of course, it's just sort of puzzling. I'm glad you newcomers like this story! If you could find your way to leaving a few reviews, that would be great. XD

(And you old-comers too. Reviews are awesome.)


	26. Questions

A/N: As always, sorry for the delay! I had finals, but now they're over. Enjoy!

* * *

Mira was waiting when Atton came stumbling out of the shyrack cave; she handed him a canteen of water, and tactfully refrained from asking any questions as he upended the whole thing over his head.

No blood, this time, only the memory of it—

"Where's the _Hawk_?" Atton demanded, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Not far," she said. Her pink hair blazed in the hot Korriban sun. "Mandalore and I made it out before the thing collapsed. I was pretty sure you guys were dead, but Mical said otherwise."

"Where's Carra?"

"Back on the ship. She made it out a few minutes before you."

"Let's go, then," Atton said grimly, and handed the canteen back to her.

--

Carra kept trying to teach him the ways of a Jedi, but Atton had never cared much for their mystical babble. All their love and peace hadn't managed to penetrate his shields; all their understanding of the Force hadn't protected them when he'd poisoned them with toxins that cut off that connection. The only really dangerous thing had been their skill with the lightsaber.

But.

_You have to kill me_, she told him, hands spread out before her. And, _I love you._

He would have to kill her to get through the door; only a fool would mistake the symbolism. And he'd run her through with his lightsaber, because he followed Carra now, and blades and blasters reminded him too much of what he had been like under Revan—

He wasn't sorry. She was dead, anyway, and Carra wasn't.

--

He wasn't sorry, but it still hurt, and when he stumbled back onto the _Hawk_ Mira declared him in no condition to fly and tried to send him off to his bunk. Atton was having none of it. She jammed him with a sedative at that point, and Atton woke up several hours later in hyperspace.

It would've been embarrassing enough without Mical hovering over him. "You should go back to sleep," the other man said, frowning, as Atton swung his legs over the side of the medbay bunk and sat up. "I've been getting some strange neural readings—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Atton said, rolling his eyes. "Where's Carra? Who's flying the ship?"

"Carra has very sensibly gone to bed," Mical said stiffly. "Mira has put T3 in charge of the ship—"

"He's probably piloting us straight into a black hole," Atton muttered darkly, and ignored Mical's protests as he pushed past him and out of the medbay.

His first stop was the cockpit. It was empty; T3 was probably monitoring things from the garage. Atton scowled and sank down into the pilot's chair. If Mira had let that obnoxious little scrap heap do the take-off, he was ejecting both of them out of the nearest airlock.

Although Carra would probably kill him if he actually did.

Atton pulled up the diagnostics for the _Hawk_. Everything looked all right, he thought grudgingly. The outer hull was due for some maintenance, but that was to be expected after landing in a sandy place like Korriban; Bao-Dur would take care of it the next time they stopped somewhere. Speaking of which—

Atton checked the star maps. Nar Shadda. He could have cheered. At least Mira had some sense.

And he could finally get a decent drink; Mical refused to let any alcohol on board the _Hawk_, even though Atton and Mandalore were quite vocal in their objections. The man was a menace, Atton thought darkly. Next he was going to be insisting on registering the _Hawk_ with the Republic authorities—

"You fuss over this thing like a mother hen," Mira said from the doorway. Atton turned and scowled at her.

"I do not," he snapped. And then, "What's a mother hen?"

"Never mind," she said, coming in. "Sorry about tranqing you, by the way, but I wasn't about to let you near the controls in the state you were."

Atton scowled harder.

"You're only annoyed because you know I'm right," she informed him. Mira dropped down in the co-pilot's chair and called up the hyperdrive navigation interface. "Look, we're fine. I put in the coordinates properly and everything. I _am_ a certified pilot, you know."

"She's _my_ ship," Atton retorted. "She needs me."

Mira eyed him skeptically. "She's Carra's ship," she said. "And you need a shower. There's sand in your hair and you look like something a gizka threw up—"

"Hey!" Atton said, affronted.

"Well, it's _true_." Mira was smirking. "Go on, flyboy. I'll stay here and watch your ship."

Grumbling, Atton went.

--

He took a shower, and then Mical hunted him down and insisted he eat something, so Atton had a ration bar to make Mical leave him alone, and then he discovered that Mira had locked him out of the cockpit, possibly because Bao-Dur was also in there. Annoyed, Atton went to make sure T3 was still monitoring the ship—because _Mira_ most likely wasn't—only to have to scrap heap chase him out of the garage, beeping something about the starboard sensor array and being _very busy_, thank you very much.

Thoroughly disgruntled now, Atton went to his room and flopped down on his bunk.

And then he scrambled up again, very quickly, because Carra had just appeared.

"_Frack_, Carra," Atton said, stamping down hard on the urge to reach for his blaster and start shooting. "I didn't hear you." And then, "Hey, you all right?"

He hadn't seen her since they'd gone into that tomb. She was in her Jedi robes again, clean now—white and tan and silver-edged, and Atton had to blink to clear away the ghosts in his vision, because she was Jedi Knight, wasn't she, and they all wore the same thing—

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine." She brushed a strand of hair back from her face and looked at him, a little hesitant. "How are you?"

"Fine," Atton said, in his best I'm-sorry-I-threatened-to-shoot-you-but-you-were-trying-to-mind-control-me-and-oh-no-this-isn't-awkward-at-all voice.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. The door slid shut behind her, and Carra reached back with one hand and locked it.

Atton's eyebrows shot up. "I had a dream like this," he drawled. "Only it involved a lot more juma, and a lot fewer clothes."

She ignored him. "Atton," she said. "I am so tired of not knowing what to do."

"Uh—you know what I'm going to suggest, don't you?"

She didn't ignore him that time. "I know," she said.

Atton could feel his smirk draining very rapidly away. "Wait," he said. "You're serious? That's what you're here for?"

Carra tilted her head and looked at him, green eyes thoughtful. "I don't know."

His heart was hammering in his chest, which was ridiculous, because this was only Carra trying to make up her mind, and—all right, it wasn't ridiculous. "But I thought—" Atton said, and stopped. Then: "But you're a Jedi."

"Shall I tell you a story?" she asked. "It's about Jedi."

If she had been lost before—well, now she was still lost, only for some reason she had turned off her commlink, as though she had given up on finding her way back. "Sure," Atton said.

Carra came and sat down next to him on the bunk, uninvited. "Actually, that isn't true," she said, half to herself. "It's about many Jedi. But this is the way I've always remembered it. This is how it starts: there was a man, once, and he was a Jedi, and he fell in love—even though it was forbidden."

"Did he get kicked out?" Atton asked.

"No," she said. "The Jedi consider it a small transgression—everyone falls in love, you know, and we are taught to overcome it, as part of our training. But this Jedi refused. He questioned the wisdom of the council. They warned him something dreadful would happen, but he wouldn't listen." Carra cast him a glance. "I think you see where this is going."

"Yeah," he said. "Let me guess—the council separated them? Or she died? Or she fell to the dark side, and tried to convince him to join her?"

"Yes," Carra said.

Atton frowned at her. "Which?"

"All of them." She shrugged. "I did tell you it was many Jedi, didn't I? All of that happened. And sometimes he cast away his lightsaber and followed her to Nar Shadda and they opened a cantina together, and sometimes he didn't, because he believed in the Code."

"And sometimes," she added, "he followed her out into the far reaches of space, and they found the Star Forge together, and he thought he could save her from what was coming simply because he loved her—but in the end they both fell."

"Revan," Atton said. "And Malak."

Carra sighed and looked morose. "See?" she said. "It's all very depressing."

He touched her shoulder. She jumped, as though startled; Atton said, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I actually came in here to apologize."

"For what?"

"For what I tried to do at the Academy."

Atton shrugged. "I held a blaster to your head and threatened to shoot," he said. "I think we're even."

"Would you really have shot me?"

She had asked him that before, in the Academy; he hadn't known the answer then. "Yeah," Atton said. "I probably would've, yeah."

Carra nodded and looked unsurprised. "I took a vow, you know," she said, very distantly now. "The day the Jedi Council cast me out for fighting the Mandalorians. I promised I would never be as heartlessly manipulative as they were—not ever, even if I could never feel the Force again. But they weren't heartless, were they? They all cared."

"They cared about the greater good," Atton reminded her. "Doesn't mean what they did was right."

She sighed. "I know," she said, drawing her knees up beneath her chin. "I hated them for the longest time. That wasn't right, either."

"Yeah, because Vrook's really a model for kindness and decency in the universe." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Carra looked morose again, and Atton instantly felt guilty. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's all right." Carra tugged idly at the edge of her sleeves. "I never wanted to be like him. I thought—well. We were taught to protect others, weren't we? We should have protected them better from ourselves."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Carra said. She looked at him then, green eyes shadowed. "The Council always tried to manipulate the galaxy according to their will. I thought it was wisdom, then. But some things, I think, the Sith got right—there is choice, and freedom, and we were wrong to take it away—and I very nearly did it to you—"

Atton frowned at her. "Carra—"

"It's true," she said. "I wanted to. I thought it would be for the best, you know, if you just left."

"But you didn't," he reminded her.

"You threatened to kill me if I did."

Right. There was that. "So we're even?"

"I don't know," Carra said, burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't tried. I wish I hadn't wanted to. I wished you were Mical, because Mical wouldn't have tried to shoot me, but then I _would_ have forced him and it would be worse—"

"Carra—"

"I love you," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "Not compassionately, the way the Code teaches us, but selfishly—and Atton, it is such a quiet thing, to fall, and I wouldn't notice until it was over, and by then I wouldn't care."

He kissed her, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and Carra buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back as though she'd been doing it all her life—but that wasn't right, was it? He was her first. The thought made him pull away.

"Carra," Atton said, kicking himself all the while for his misplaced sense of chivalry. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Her hands were in his hair; her eyes were green and very bright. "No," she said.

"Then, uh—"

She let her hands drop. "I don't know what I'm doing," she said. "I'm so tired of it. I always knew what I was doing—which battles to win, which planets to take, which troops could be sent where with minimum losses—all I ever had to do was ask the Force, and listen, and I would _know_."

His arm was around her waist. "So—what happened?"

"I can't hear it," Carra said, lonely and lost. "I ask, and it speaks to me, but there's—there's too much in the way. I can't hear it, and I don't know what to do, and I wanted—"

If he were smart, he'd shut up now and kiss her again, because this was what he wanted, wasn't it? But maybe Kreia was right, and he was a fool after all, because all of a sudden he found that he couldn't. Vicious old scow, Atton thought uncharitably. He said: "Wanted what?"

_To hear the Force again_, she could have said, or _to see the future_, or a hundred thousand other different things, and for a moment she looked as though she wanted to; but Carra was a Jedi, which meant that she believed in things like courage and honesty however ridiculous they were, so at the last moment she sighed, and said, quite ruefully, "You."

His heart skipped a beat. "Right," Atton said, a little lamely, and he was grinning like an idiot but he didn't care. "Well. Good."

She tilted her face toward him. "Kiss me again," she said. "Please."

There was a presence at the edge of his mind, like distant music, like the sound of the wind as it blew through the tall grass of Dantooine. He touched her cheek. _Sure_, he said. _Anything you like_.

* * *

A/N: Answers to come next chapter.

On a separate note: you guys should all play Assassin's Creed, so then you can read the awesome awesome new fanfic I am writing for it. It will be well-researched. It will be well-plotted. It will have interesting characters. I wish I could take Guarded and start all over and make it more cohesive and sensible and, I dunno, just better written in general, but I've already made up my mind where I'm going with this so unfortunately there's really not much I can do at this point--but! if you've ever wanted to see what Guarded were like if it were more internally consistent and better plotted, my Assassin's Creed fic is the sort of direction that I wanted to take it in. So yeah. Sorry for the shameless plug.

On another separate note: thanks to everyone for the reviews, they really pulled me through an awful few weeks of exams and papers and exams.


	27. Answers

A/N: Apologies in advance if anyone gets confused. Ideas were difficult to convey.

* * *

It wasn't until hours and hours later that Atton finally figured out what Carra was up to.

The first hint that not all was at it seemed came from Mical—Mical, who was in love with Carra, so Atton had expected bitterness and jealousy from him—but not anger, not from this Jedi-in-training, so it took Atton utterly by surprise when Mical came up to him, seized him by the collar, and slammed him against the nearest wall.

"Explain yourself," Mical said, quite calmly, his blue eyes cold and furious.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Atton demanded, rather taken aback by this sudden show of violence.

Mical gave him a shake. "You," he said. "And Carra. Explain yourself now, Atton Rand, or I will tell her what you did for all those years when you followed Revan—"

Atton reached up, grabbed the front of Mical's shirt, and twisted. Mical went crashing to the floor. In moments he was up again, moving faster than was humanly possibly, and there was a cold bright presence in the air—clear and pristine, like vast stretches of glaciers and ice and snow-topped mountains, and just as deadly—

He ducked under a punch and elbowed Mical in the stomach. The two of them separated again, panting, and glared at each other from opposite ends of the hallway.

"How the hell did you know about that?" Atton demanded.

"Research," Mical said, succinctly.

"Well, you're a little late," Atton snapped. "She already knows."

The presence paused, uncertain. Atton ruthlessly pressed his advantage. "She knows because I told her," he said. "So, first of all, she trusts me. And second of all, it's none of your bloody business what we do together—"

"You _seduced _her," Mical said, and his eyes were blazing again.

Atton scowled. "She was the one who came to _me_."

The presence wavered. Mical blinked and looked puzzled. "But I thought—" he said uncertainly. And, "I had a vision."

Jedi. Honest to the point of gullibility; they didn't lie, and didn't believe that other people would, and Atton was disgusted with it even though, technically, he hadn't been lying. "What vision?"

"Of Carra," Mical said, his eyes going distant; the presence was turning away now, as though preoccupied. "And you. And she was with you, and she had fallen." Now he frowned. "She has to know," Mical said, almost to himself. "She's far better trained. She must have seen it, so what—"

Atton leaned forward, intent. Unfortunately, Mical chose that moment to break out of his reverie. He drew himself up and fixed Atton with another stare.

"Very well," Mical said, and his voice was no longer glacial-cold but bitter and filled with dislike. "If she has chosen, then so be it."

And he turned on his heel and walked away.

--

The second hint came from Kreia. She found him as Atton was checking up on the hyperdrive, and he jumped and dropped his hydrospanner when she suddenly appeared in front of him.

"What do _you_ want?" Atton said, ungraciously.

She ignored this. "You think you can change her?" Kreia demanded, menacing in her utter lack of a presence whatsoever. "You think you can stop her destiny? If so, then you are more of a fool than I had thought."

What was it with his two least favorite people in the galaxy appearing out of nowhere to tell him cryptic things? Jedi, Atton thought disparagingly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Atton said, scowling darkly. "Go away. I have a ship to run."

Kreia tilted her head in his direction. "She will destroy the Sith," Kreia said. "She will put an end to the Force. Stay out of her way, murderer, or you will be the first to fall."

Atton didn't notice when she left. But she must have, because all of a sudden he was alone in the room with the hyperdrive humming at him, and Kreia was nowhere in sight. Frowning, he picked up the hydrospanner.

--

The third hint came from the _Ebon Hawk_.

Atton sad down to check that they were still on course. Then he stared. Then he jumped up and stormed out of the cockpit and went to look for Carra.

She was in the main cabin with Bao-Dur, the two of them sitting at the table and discussing something in low voices, and they looked up as he came in. "Atton," Bao-Dur said, sounding surprised. "What are you—"

"Why the hell are we going to Dantooine?" Atton demanded.

"Um," Carra said, and stopped. There was silence in the room. Atton glared.

Bao-Dur glanced between them and stood up. "General," he said, ever tactful. "I'll be in the garage if you need me."

He left.

Atton crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are we going to Dantooine?" he repeated.

Carra hesitated, as though trying to decide what to say. "The Council should know about Vash," she said at last.

"We couldn't have sent them a message from Nar Shadda?"

"No," Carra said. "We couldn't have."

Atton stared at her.

_General_, Bao-Dur had said—because she had been his general, back in the Mandalorian wars, and if she was young now, how much younger had she been then? But Revan had made her a general, because she had known which battles to win and which planets to take; she had overseen plans that would have taken months and years to fruition; she had been a chessmaster of the very highest order, even if she had not been the one moving the pieces—

"And why not?" Atton demanded.

Carra shrugged, a little helplessly. "I just—we couldn't have," she said. "It wouldn't have worked out properly."

There was a coldness settling into his stomach. "Let me guess," Atton said, not taking his eyes off her. "You just had a feeling we should go to Dantooine? About—oh, maybe four hours ago? So then you went to the star maps and changed course?"

"Atton—"

It had been a rhetorical question, anyway. He'd checked the ship logs. "Never mind," Atton said, and he had not thought he would be so bitter but he was. "I'll be in the cockpit, shall I? Making myself _useful_."

He left her staring after him.

--

She came after him. Of course she would. Atton sat in the pilot's chair and stared out into hyperspace and ignored her as she came up behind him and touched his shoulder.

"Atton," Carra said. "Why are you angry?"

"Aren't you supposed to know everything?" he demanded.

"No."

He didn't look at her. "Don't you think it's a little bit suspicious that you say you don't know what to do, and then suddenly you do? Because you just happened to resolve whatever issue it was that was holding you back?"

A pause. And: "I didn't think you'd mind."

_All I ever had to do was ask_, Carra had told him. _All I ever had to do was ask, and listen, and I would know—_

"I should've known," Atton said, wearily. "You saw it coming, didn't you? What did you want to do, Carra? Destroy the Sith? So you asked, and the universe gave you an answer, and I don't know what role I played in it but you needed me. It wasn't just enough peace of mind to let you know what to do again, was it? There's something bigger."

What had Mical said? _A vision. She must have seen it_.

_If she has chosen, then so be it_.

"There's always something bigger. Frack. You were Revan's general. I'll bet you saw Malachor coming and went ahead anyway, because you'd asked how to win the war and that was how—"

And Kreia didn't approve of him, but then Kreia didn't approve of anything, and in any case Carra wasn't particularly working with Kreia—too many differences of opinion, for one thing. Carra wanted peace and justice and love. Kreia—what did Kreia want?

But Kreia couldn't care less about peace or justice or love. So of course Kreia would not approve.

"You trusted me because the Force told you to," Atton said aloud. "You made me learn the lightsaber because you got a feeling about it. You brought me with you because I'd be useful—it had to be me, didn't it? Back at the Academy with you? It couldn't have been Mical, because he wouldn't have tried to shoot you, and you _would_ have forced him, and it would've been your fall—but we can't have that, can we? That would get in the way of—of whatever you're planning."

Behind him, Carra was silent. It was a damning sort of silence. He turned and looked at her. Carra was very pale, and very still, and her hand was tightfisted around her lightsaber like it was a lifeline.

Finally, she said: "I wasn't lying, when I said I loved you."

"Yeah, sure," Atton said. "But you picked me, huh? You had a choice, and you picked me, because Mical would've let you fall." He was very cold. "No other reason for it," Atton added, snorting. "He's totally your type, a goody-two-shoes Jedi—"

Her eyes had gone very wide. "Atton, I—"

"So you picked me." Atton plowed on, ruthlessly. "You needed me enough to put up with my being a distraction, but you always knew what to do if I ever got to be too much of a distraction to handle, yeah? Even if it violated the Code. Because—whatever you're doing's more important than the Code." He stared at her. "Are you done with me yet, Jedi?" he demanded. "I've saved your life. I've given you back your peace of mind. You're getting those visions again, aren't you? And I'll bet you can heal again, too. You said you didn't want to be that sort of Jedi, but you used me all the same. Whatever you're doing is more important than your morals."

"Atton—"

"More important than me," he added.

She didn't have anything to say to that. He looked back out into hyperspace, swirling blue and endless. "Go away," Atton said.

There was silence. Then: footsteps, as she moved away from him, and the whir of the cockpit door sliding shut, and then Atton was alone again. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

What the hell was he going to do?

* * *

A/N: This is sort of how I imagined this in my head:

Atton: DON'T ORDER ME AROUND I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU

Carra: Fine, whatever.

Atton: OMG YOU TOTALLY WANTED ME TO NOT LISTEN TO YOU

Carra: ...??

Atton: YOU ARE SO MANIPULATIVE AND I HATE YOU

Carra: :(

Atton: I WANT TO BE ALONE NOW. WITH MY FEELINGS. MY SAD FEELINGS. ::is extremely emo::

Melodramatic should be his middle name.

We are approaching the endgame now! Which means I will be slower with updates. Or quicker. Or, I dunno. You'll get them when I write them, I suppose. That wasn't very helpful, was it? Sorry.


	28. Atris

A/N: Geez, I suck at this updating thing. Thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

In the end, what he did was land the _Ebon Hawk_ on Dantooine.

"We're here," Atton announced to the ship at large, and everyone went wandering off to stretch their legs or go shopping or whatever there was to do on this backwater planet.

Except for Carra. She was waiting for him as he came down the landing ramp, and Atton stopped and scowled and demanded: "What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize," she said.

Oh, sure. She would probably mean it too. She looked like she meant it, standing there in the waist-high grass with her innocent tan robes and her lightsaber gleaming like a star; she was sorry, there was no doubt of that, but Carra had been sorry about Malachor, too, and Atton was quite, quite certain that she would burn it again if she had to do it over.

Jedi were like that. Always following some vision.

And he'd thought she'd be _different_.

"Yeah," Atton said. "I'm sure you do."

--

He went drinking. It seemed the thing to do. There was a cantina in the settlement—a small one, and nearly deserted when he walked in, but Atton slapped down a few credits and stalked off into a corner to brood. Through the window, he could hear Dantooine singing; vast and bright and lovely, summer wind and waving grass, and Atton tossed back his drink and wished he'd had the good luck to crash-land somewhere else, all those years ago.

He was doing a damned good job of ignoring the universe until an hour or two later, when Mira came in and slapped him on the back of his head.

The bartender made an annoyed sound of protest as Atton spilled his drink across the table. When the stars had cleared from his eyes, he looked up and glared.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded.

Mira was glaring too. "You _idiot_," she said. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Having a _drink_," Atton said. "Until you made me _spill_ it." He righted the glass. "What are you doing here?"

"We're leaving," Mira snapped. And, "I can't believe you let Carra go off by herself. The Jedi Council nearly killed her."

--

So it was a short stop in Dantooine.

They went back to the _Hawk_, Mira still furious with him, but Atton got the story out of her eventually: a wound in the Force, and a judgment, and Kreia's betrayal. And Carra, when he reached her, looked up at him with the wound full in her eyes, and said: "They're dead."

The Jedi Council. Good riddance, Atton wanted to say, but he didn't. "Where's Kreia?"

"Gone." She paced across the length of the main cabin, the _Hawk_'s motley crew clustered around the edges, and for once even T3 was silent. "I don't know where she went."

"Great, just great," Atton drawled. "The Council's dead, Kreia's gone—so, remind me, why did we come here?"

Mira hit him again. They glared at each other over Atton's bruised shoulder. Carra, still pacing, didn't notice.

"We have to tell Atris," she said. "She's the last Jedi Master left. She should know."

"Yeah, because it's not like she'll try to turn on you or anything, what with the track records of all the Jedi Masters you've encountered so far—_ow_!" Atton edged away from Mira. "Stop hitting me, damn it!"

"Stop being a jerk," Mira snapped back.

"Hey, I was just pointing out the obvious—"

Atton stopped. Everyone was staring at them—Mandalore with his hard-eyed gaze and Visas, eerily, from beneath her veil—but at last it was only Carra that spoke, and she said: "Atton, can you take us to Telos?"

_Atton, can you take us to Telos?_

Why did he bother? If she wanted to get herself killed, why should he try to stop her? What did he care, anyway? She had only been using him, after all.

"Yeah, sure," Atton said, and stalked off to the cockpit.

--

They went to Telos, and there was the polar plateau again, all cold and bright and covered in drifts of white snow; like Mical, it was unfriendly. Atton shivered beneath his jacket and burned patterns into the snow with the tip of his lightsaber as they walked. Mical watched disapprovingly.

"That is not a toy," Mical said, reproving.

"Yeah?" Atton didn't care what Mical thought.

"This is a serious affair."

"Yeah, whatever."

Mical frowned at him. Up ahead, Carra had pulled to a stop and was conferring with Mira. Atton stopped too, because he didn't feel like coming within smacking distance of either of them; the rest of the crew straggled to a halt as well. Carra turned toward them.

"Here is the entrance," she said, toeing a spot on the ground before her. A section of snowy ground lifted up and away, and there was a sloping ramp leading down into the plateau; "There really is no need for all of you to accompany me," Carra added, with a meaningful glance at Mira. "I don't think Atris would like it."

"After what happened last time," said Bao-Dur, "I don't think it would be wise to go in alone, General."

"Atris is not—"

"Atris _might be_," said Mira. T3 beeped in agreement. Atton, who privately thought that Atris already was, kept his mouth shut.

But Carra was looking at him anyway. "What do you think, Atton?" she asked.

Atton shrugged, with elaborate carelessness. "Hey, do whatever you want," he said, and he couldn't entirely keep the bitterness out of his voice. "You're the Jedi, aren't you?"

"Then it's settled," Carra said, her lightsaber already in her hand. "Visas, stand guard here. The rest of you, back to the ship. I'll return within the hour."

She turned and disappeared down the ramp.

Everyone stared after her for a moment. Then Mira turned and punched Atton in the arm.

"You _idiot_," she said, glaring. "Now look what you've done."

"What the hell did _I_ do?" Atton demanded.

"If you two are going to have a lover's spat, do _try_ to stop yourself from getting her killed," Mira snapped. She turned toward the rest of the crew. "Bao-Dur, get back to the ship. Take T3 with you. Mandalore, Mical, you two stand guard out here—Visas, you're coming with me. We're going after her."

"Who put you in charge?" Atton objected.

"Clearly our valiant leader is emotionally compromised," Mira said. She was still glaring at him. "Are you going to come with me, or do I have to drag you along by the hair?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Mira said dangerously.

--

Atton went—but only, he told himself, because getting into a scuffle with Mira would be undignified.

Not because he was _worried_ about Carra or anything. She was a _Jedi_. She could take care of herself. She wasn't the sort to walk blindly into a trap just because he'd egged her on—

The compound was eerily quiet. The three of them went in shielded and silent, but they needn't have bothered; all the corridors were deserted, and when they passed by the dining hall, Atton reached out and brushed his fingers against a tabletop. It was covered in dust. Not even the maintenance robots stirred.

Ahead of them, Carra's footsteps echoed in the silence. Apparently Mira wasn't going to tell her that they were there.

The footsteps slowed. Atton tried to peer around a door, bumped into Mira, and was elbowed in the ribs for his trouble. Scowling, he unshielded himself.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed. "There's no one here to see us."

"That is not entirely accurate," Visas said. But she had appeared as well, sparkling out of the air like a mirage as she deactivated her stealth unit. "There is someone here—but it is only Atris. Can you feel her?"

Atton didn't particularly _want_ to, but he tried anyway; there was the pool of dark water that was Visas, and a furious blaze of red as Mira popped into sight, and of course there was Carra, off in the distance—and beyond that, something small and frail, scrabbling at the edge of his consciousness like a whirl of smoke against the sky.

"_That's_ Atris?" Atton whispered incredulously. "I thought she was a—a Jedi Master—"

"No," Visas said. "Not anymore."

"But—"

"That room," Visas said, "holds all the teachings the Sith have—of combat, of the Force, of ways to kill Jedi. Whatever she was before, that room has stripped it from her."

Mira was rolling her eyes. "And you know Carra's going to try and talk her out of it," she said.

Yeah, of course she was. It was Carra. "Well, let's go, then," Atton said impatiently.

"Really?" Mira asked. She was watching him. "You sure you don't want to wait for her here? I mean, it's a Jedi thing and all, and you don't like to get involved in those—"

"Oh, shut up," Atton snapped, and flicked his stealth unit back on.

--

But there wasn't a fight after all. Not for Atton, anyway.

Atris's inner sanctum, when they arrived, was bitterly cold, and there were faint hissing voices at the edge of hearing; they set his teeth on edge. Carra was bent over Atris's body at the center of the room. She tilted her head in their direction as they stepped inside.

"It's all right," she said. "You can turn off your shields. You didn't have to come, you know."

They flickered back into visibility. "Did you kill her?" Atton asked.

Mira made a small, strangled sound of frustration, but he was out of reach. In any case, Carra was shaking her head. "No," she said. "She isn't dead. Just—gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" he demanded.

"Gone," Carra said again. She rose and came toward them, tiredly, and when she passed Atton she paused; for a moment, he thought that she might let him touch her, and for a moment, he desperately wanted to—but in the next second she was moving again, lightsaber swinging at her hip, and Atton was drawing back his hand with a stifled curse.

"We should go," she called to them over her shoulder. "There isn't anything here. We need to go to Citadel Station."

When Mira passed him, she clapped her hand to his shoulder, and the look she cast him was almost pitying. "I've changed my mind," Mira said wryly. "You two are both idiots."

* * *

A/N: You know what? I like Mira. She's pretty cool.


	29. Nihilus

A/N: Damn it I am finishing this thing if it kills me.

* * *

They were near the entranceway when Visas stopped and threw up her hand. "Wait," she whispered, her voice even more breathless than usual. And, "Darth Nihilus approaches."

"Oh, great, another Sith Lord," Atton growled, drawing out his blasters.

"He isn't here yet," Carra said. She tilted her head, as though listening. "We need to go to Citadel Station," she said again. "I can feel him coming, like—like—"

"A wound in the force," Visas said.

Atton snorted. "Another one?"

Carra shrugged, turning away. "Malachor left echoes," she said. "They linger still."

Mira was glaring at him, a blaze of crimson against his mind. _Thank you, Mr. Tactful_, she snapped, as they started walking again. Atton's jaw nearly dropped in surprise.

_You—you're Force sensitive?_

_Haven't you figured it out yet? _Mira demanded. _Nearly everyone on the Hawk is_.

--

The _Hawk_ was picking up communications from Citadel Station as it lifted off; most of them were frantic, uuencoded messages to the Republic, asking for help, and Atton groaned and shouted for Carra.

"We'll have to help," Carra said, as though she would suggest anything else. Atton rolled his eyes.

"I don't know if you've noticed," he said sardonically, "but that's a Sith fleet sitting up there in space and the Republic Navy's on its way. _We_ don't have to do anything."

"They've already started bombardment," Carra said, which was true. "Citadel Station can't hold out under that sort of firepower—there'll be an invasion soon."

Which was also true. Atton scowled anyway. "And you think _we_ can stop the invasion?"

"We can hold them off long enough for the Republic to get there."

"We might _die_."

Carra sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "You don't have to go," she said. "You can stay on the ship."

"Damn it, Carra, what sort of general are you?" Atton demanded, but he was punching in the coordinates anyway. "What kind of order is 'you don't have to go'? You'll let me stay behind because I don't feel like going, and maybe get yourself killed over it?"

"I was Revan's general," Carra said. Her hand had gone tightfisted around her lightsaber again. "I didn't give orders. I _advised_. Revan made the decisions."

"Yeah? Did that make you feel better when all those soldiers died at your _advice_?"

Carra was silent. Atton felt like kicking himself. He should've kept this mouth shut. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean it like that."

She didn't answer. He cast her a glance; she wasn't looking at him, or even facing in his general direction. "Let me know when we arrive," she said at last, and walked away.

--

They had to fight their way through Citadel Station. Lieutenant Grenn was there to meet them after they found the command room, and he was marginally more happy to see them this time than he had the last—but still, it was a close thing, what with Sith troops storming the Citadel and Nihilus looming above them. "Jedi," he said, wiping a streak of dust from his forehead. "We can't hold out much longer."

"I know," Carra said. "The Republic will get here too late."

Useful. Atton rolled his eyes. "We're here," he said shortly. "What do you want him to do?"

Grenn explained. Atton regretted asking.

--

Hold down the command center, Carra said. Blow up the Harbinger, Carra said.

Nihilus will destroy the Republic ships the moment they come into range, Carra said. I'll take care of him.

"What, _alone_?" Atton demanded, jogging after her as she went to scout out the hallway. "I'm not even going to ask if you're crazy—"

Carra sighed. "If I ask you to stay behind," she said, "you call me crazy and insist on coming along. If I ask you to come with me, you complain that it isn't your battle and say you want to stay behind. I don't know, Atton. What do you want?"

He wanted her safe. He wanted the Sith Lords dead, and he wanted to be unhaunted, and he wanted the galaxy to leave him alone. He wanted a drink.

At the moment, Atton wanted all sorts of things, and it was unlikely that he was going to get any of them. He scowled. "I always come anyway," he pointed out. "Does it even matter?"

"Yes," Carra said, turning on her heel impatiently. She looked up at him, there in the empty hallway that had merely been an excuse for them to snap at each other, and she said: "I wish you would make up your mind and tell me."

"And I wish," Atton said bitterly, "you would tell me what _you_ were up to. But hey, we all have dreams, right?"

Music, distant and faint. Carra looked away. She wasn't lost anymore, was she? She knew exactly what she was going to do and where she was going to go and just how much she was going to sacrifice; _I'm not that sort of Jedi_, she had told him, but she was just as ruthless as the rest of them. And perhaps she _cared_ about him, perhaps she was unhappy that she was using him—that she was using them all—but in the end it didn't matter. She would do it anyway.

She had advised Revan full in the knowledge that all her _advice_ would be taken. An order by any other name—

"Let's go," he said abruptly, turning away. "No point in waiting for Nihilus to come to us."

"All right," Carra said. "Let me tell the crew."

--

"Do you wish me to accompany you?" Visas asked, when they returned to the group.

"What, and stab us in the back the moment your master tells you to?" Atton snorted. "No."

"_Atton_," Carra said. And, "Please stay here, Visas. The lieutenant needs your help, and we need a force-user to coordinate the teams."

Visas inclined her head. "As you wish."

Atton scowled at her anyway. "If you try _anything_—"

The building shook under a barrage of artillery fire. "Just go," Mira snapped at him, tossing him two of her spare grenades. "You can complain about it later."

He might be _dead_ later, Atton thought darkly. Not that anyone would care.

--

Back on the _Hawk_, Mandalore was manning the turret guns as Atton brought them careening through space towards certain death. Sith gunships were everywhere. He looped around the main force, quick and careful, and on the other side the first of the Republic fleet were dropping out of hyperspace to draw their fire. Carra sat next to him, silent. Up ahead was a gaping emptiness, vast and hungry, and they were flying right into its jaws—

"ETA four minutes," Atton said, instead of, for example, announcing that this was a terrible idea and turning the ship around. Not that anyone would listen to _him_; he was just the pilot. "Everyone ready?"

"Ready," Mandalore said over the commlink.

_Ready,_ Mical said into his mind, his presence like gleaming-bright glaciers in the dawnlight.

_Ready, _Visas said from Citadel Station. Atton jumped; he hadn't been expecting _her_. Frack, she wasn't even on the ship—

"Yes," Carra said.

"Great, great—" He brought the _Hawk_ flaring up. "Hey, uh, not that I'm not grateful or anything, but the Harbinger isn't exactly opening fire on us and we're definitely in range—"

"Pride," Carra said, her fingers brushing across the dashboard before her and her eyes very distant. "He doesn't think we can kill him. A challenge has been issued and he'll answer it."

"Seems like that ridiculous Jedi honor isn't limited to you Jedi, huh?"

"I think," Carra said, "for him it's more a matter of style."

_And honor isn't ridiculous_, Mical said indignantly. Atton scowled.

_Stay out of my conversations_, he snapped, and slammed up a wall of—well, not rage, perhaps, but at the very least enough irritation to keep the wannabe-Jedi from trampling merrily through his thoughts. "One minute," Atton announced, powering down the rear engines. "Prepare to board."

They docked.

Carra went first and Atton trailed after her; they would scout out the ship first and clear resistance, and Mandalore and Mical would follow after to set up the proton charges, and everywhere around them the ship was eerie and silent and always the hunger tugged at the edges of their minds. "What's wrong with him?" Atton asked finally. "I mean, Kreia's a manipulative old schutta and Sion's mostly dead, but what's Nihilus's problem?"

Carra stopped at the edge of a doorway. "He's—empty," she said, frowning a little. "A wound in the force, a hollow sieve—he wants life, and has none of his own, and so he eats others'. I'm not even sure if he's entirely sentient, by now. He's very old. And always hungry."

"Creepy," Atton remarked. "Why aren't we moving?"

"Assassins," Carra said, and went blazing out before him into the next room as a knot of Sith uncloaked themselves.

So the ship wasn't entirely empty after all. He had begun to wonder.

--

They left corpses behind them, and a clear path for Mandalore to set the charges, and Atton kicked the pieces of a broken Sith lightsaber out of the way as he strode forward. "I guess his _style_ isn't getting in the way of him sending assassins to soften us up first," Atton said acidly.

Carra caught at his sleeve. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah?" He glanced down. He hadn't noticed; it was only a scrape, anyway, and wouldn't even slow him down. "It's fine."

"Atton," Carra said, and there was a discordant jangle of music and absolutely nothing happened. She let go of his arm then, as though she had been burned, and curled her fingers together so tightly her knuckles went white. "I thought—" she said, and stopped. And: "Never mind. Let's go."

So she still couldn't heal. So she still wasn't done with him yet, whatever she wanted him for, and Atton wondered if he trusted her enough to go along with whatever she was planning. He doubted that she would want to hurt him—but then again, she had mourned over Malachor, and she had done it anyway—

"Yeah, not a good idea to keep the Sith Lord waiting," he drawled.

Carra almost smiled.

--

The Sith Lord was a lot shorter than Atton would have expected.

He was cold, though—freezing cold, like death, like that long corridor back on Korriban where a ghost had appeared—as though he were drawing all the life out of the very air itself. Mist swirled around the edges of his robes as he turned. His face was a mask.

"Nihilus," Carra said, stopping.

A tremor in the air, like growling, like hunger.

"No," Carra said. "She isn't coming. And her name is Visas."

Anger. The shapes of Nihilus's emotions were raw against Atton's mind, but somehow Carra was making sense of them. "I'm here to stop you," she was saying, deadly serious, and her hand was on her lightsaber. "You won't have her. You won't have anyone else—you are a wound in the Force, and it will be closed—"

"Just _shoot him_," Atton said, violently torn between being irritated that Carra was trying to _lecture a Sith Lord_—when had that ever worked, anyway?—and being irritated by the content of her speech itself, which sounded like something off a cheesy holovid. Honestly, who took that sort of thing seriously? "Carra, why do you always try to talk to everyone who's trying to kill you? They never listen."

Nihilus turned his mask towards Atton. A scrabbling at the edges of his mind—Atton gritted his teeth and stood his ground, even though something like ice was spreading over him, and it was suddenly a great effort to close his hand around his blaster and bring it up—

_Stop_.

—and Carra was suddenly between him and the Sith Lord, her lightsaber blazing violet against the mist, and the cold was falling away like a shadow. Atton was gasping for breath. His blaster was still out, and his lungs hurt, and his head hurt. He fired almost without thinking.

The shot swept over Carra's shoulder and sunk into the depths of Nihilus's robes. Nihilus didn't even flinch. Atton cursed.

"Stop," Carra said again. "Atton, stay out of this."

"The _hell_ I will—"

"A duel," she said, her hand closing down hard on his wrist. "Yes, I accept. Atton, no outside interference—a closed-ring duel, between force-users. Stay out of this."

There was really no arguing with her sometimes. "Fine," Atton muttered, stepping back. But if it looked like she was losing—

"Thank you."

A flicker of movement between the folds of the robes; a curling in the mist. Suddenly Nihilus was holding a red-bladed lightsaber in his—his hand? Atton couldn't see.

A thrill of something like anticipation in the air.

And then a flurry of light too fast for his eye to track. Violet and red and violet again—Carra was across the room, panting—Nihilus was sweeping aside as she thrust forward—red and violet—

Frack. He couldn't get a clear shot even if Carra _were_ trying to stay out of his way. Atton scowled deeply. As though blasters could do any damage anyway; Nihilus had seemed fairly unharmed by his first shot. And it was too close for grenades, but not close enough for a lightsaber or a vibrosword unless he stepped into the fight—

He put his hand on his 'saber anyway. No reason to be unprepared.

Lightning crackled in the room. Carra danced out of the way and swung. Her lightsaber left a scorch mark on Nihilus's robe.

Nihilus hissed.

Huh, Atton thought. She might win this after all—not that he had ever doubted her, what with Carra being a Jedi and everything—but hey, the sooner this was over, the better.

Singing, like wind through prairie grass, like the vast empty fields of Dantooine—and the hunger was curling away at the edges, the mist disappearing beneath Carra's onslaught, and red-and-violet flashed in the middle of the room but all around them Nihilus was dying. Atton let out a breath.

Another stroke; two; the cold was creeping away, high bright singing was echoing around the room—

And then Nihilus was turning away from Carra with desperate clawing hunger and Atton had only a moment of warning before Nihilus came after him.

He ducked to the side. Another second and he would have been dead; instead he brought up his lightsaber, fast and careless, but Nihilus was moving too slowly now to dodge the blow. It was _cold_, freezing cold—and the Sith Lord's robes were going to tatters at the edges—

Carra thrust her lightsaber through what might have been Nihilus's heart.

The cold ceased. Atton stumbled backward and fell, landing heavily against a wall. He didn't drop his lightsaber, though, he noted. That was something to be proud of, wasn't it?

Frack, he'd nearly been _eaten_.

"He attacked you," Carra said. She raised her eyes and looked at him, and the expression on her face was something like bewilderment. "He _attacked _you—"

Atton let his head drop back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Oh, yeah, big surprise," he said sardonically.

"You were _expecting_ him to?"

"He's a Sith Lord, Carra. Did you really expect him to keep his promises?"

Nihilus was a crumpled pile of robes and a mask and the faint echoes of something that was strange and wrong and hungry. Carra stepped around it, carefully, and dropped to her knees on the durasteel floor. Atton closed his eyes. It hurt to breathe, and he was very tired—

Her fingers were on his cheek. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Give me a moment."

Silence, stretching out between heartbeats; and: "Are you angry with me?" Carra asked, sounding very subdued. "I used you again, I think."

She wasn't even sure anymore? Well, that was a great sign. Eyes still closed, he reached out and looped his arm around her waist—carelessly, as though it didn't matter—and pulled her against him. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. Her pulse fluttered against his skin, tentative. "Yeah," Atton said. "You did. I'm furious."

"I'm sorry."

He forced his eyes open. Carra was watching him, wide-eyed. "Are you going to take his mask?" Atton asked, nodding toward what was left of Nihilus. "I heard that's traditional."

"No," she said. "He didn't have anything else."

How symbolic. If he had the energy, Atton would've rolled his eyes. "Let's get out of here," he said instead. "Before Mical decides to blow up this ship with us still on it."

* * *

EDIT: Thanks to jayJ530 for pointing out various continuity errors. Sorry people! Fixed now, hopefully.


End file.
